The Slayer of London Town
by kurisu313
Summary: In Victorian London, a stalker known only as The Slayer prowls the night, killing in a seemingly indiscriminate manner. Can Detective Inspector McGarden stop him? And what do the blacksmith Gajeel Redfox and the young noble Rogue Cheney have to do with the murderer?
1. The Smallest Detective

**===Chapter 1===**

**The Smallest Detective**

It was a dark and stormy night. Wasn't it always? Levy suspected that the weather knew more than the mere mortal humans that walked beneath it and tried to warn them of the wrong doings going on. She stood before the windows of her modest office, staring out at that sky. No, there was foul play afoot in London tonight. She could smell it. She laughed and shook her head. Perhaps she did read too much.

There was a brief knock at the door, and her house-servant, Mrs Mira Strauss entered, carrying a tray with her nightcap on it.

"Here is your warm cocoa, Detective-Inspector," Mira said with a small smile as she placed the cup on Levy's desk. The title did amuse her slightly. How on earth was this tiny thing a member of Scotland Yard? She may be small, but Levy had a sharp mind and had graduated from every form of education years ahead of the curve. Perhaps it did not help that as a huge proponent of literature that she insisted on dressing a bit like Sherlock Holmes. Mira did think that a lovely dress would suit the petite girl much more.

"Mrs Strauss, I am constantly involved in crimes of the most brutal nature. I believe that I am old enough for a proper nightcap," Levy replied with disapproval, already knowing that it would not possibly work on the strong woman before her.

"Not while you are seventeen and I am in your father's employ, I am afraid," Mira replied easily. She knew how frustrated Levy became with the way the world saw her. She was smart enough to become the leading authority in her discipline, but no one took her seriously, since she appeared to be a twelve year old girl.

"Very well," Levy relented, glad to have the warm beverage none the less. She eyed the row upon row of books that lined her walls. What would be good reading this night? Yes, she should discard her unhappy premonitions based on the weather and retire to her bedchambers. London would still be here in the morning.

**===][===**

_He called himself the Slayer, since he could not remember his real name._

_It was an appropriate name, for slaying is what he did._

_Dark alleyways of London town were his territory. He stalked through the night as if he was born of it. A long, ragged black cloak shrouded his entire form; save for the mess of long black hair that crowned his head and the evil red eyes that glowed in the darkness._

_He was driven by a need this night. It was different than before, but it was always different. Sometimes it was pure violence. Sometimes it was the need to eat, to drink. Tonight, he was looking for his mother. _

"_Mother? Is that you?" He called as he saw a woman hurrying down an adjacent alleyway. The brunette heard the voice and pressed on faster, drawing her coat tighter. No! She would get away! The Slayer ran after her, heavy feet pounding the cobbles. His swift movements easily caught up to her and he bowled her over onto the hard cobblestones. A bottle of bourbon skittered away across the ground._

"_Mother!" The Slayer chastised in a voice laced with insanity. "You shouldn't be abroad at night in such a dangerous place! There are all sorts of scum and murderers here!"_

"_I am not your mother!" The woman replied hotly, reactions dulled by a certain state of inebriation clear in her rosy cheeks and attempted to scream. The Slayer clamped his hand over her mouth._

"_You're…not my mother?" The Slayer seemed confused by this information. Why was mother lying to him? Had he been bad? Was she angry with him? He became angry in return. He was a good boy! He never lied, unlike his mother! Silver flashed in his hands and blood began to flow. He cut and cut and cut and the release felt so good. At last, he was done, the woman's blood pooling for over a metre across._

_He stood and turned to leave, having quite forgotten about the brunette. _

"_Mother?" He called into the night. "Are you there, mother?"_

**===][===**

Levy retreated to her office the following morning. The sun drearily poured through the window, hazy with the fog of grey hanging in the air. The clouds had gone, but this pall remained, she thought. Did the weather linger, urging her that events of the night still had consequences in the morning?

She shook her head, removing herself from her childish flight of fantasy.

The door flew open. It was her partner in crime, so to speak, Dr Jetson. The man, despite being only a year older than her was substantially taller, which led people to assume that he was the boss in their duo.

"Detective-Inspector! There has been a murder!" He shouted, bringing weight to his words. "It is not far from here, so they have called for us!"

"Excellent, my dear Jetson!" Levy beamed, trying not to sound _too _happy at a murder. "We must take this chance to prove ourselves! We shall forge a name for ourselves!"

The hurried the short distance to the site of the murder. Policemen barred the way of the inquisitive public. It took a minute to convince them that she was the Inspector, but they made their way through. Levy tried not to gag as she entered the alleyway. There was blood everywhere.

"Greetings there," said a policeman, tipping his hat. "I am Constable Macao Conbolt. I'm afraid we have terrible business here. Frightful stuff indeed."

"Unfortunately, the criminal element is not too concerned with the enormity of their crimes," Levy noted wryly.

"Well said Ma'am, but they are not. We have identified the woman as a Miss Cana Alberona. She is well known to the tavern owners in these parts. _Was _well known."

"Hmm, then one of the first things we'll have to do is question them if they know of anyone with a motive to kill her," Levy said, Jetson scribbling her decrees in a notepad furiously. One of the reasons Levy used him is that no one could write faster than him. Maybe it was not well written, but no one beat Jetson in speed.

"But Ma'am, we do have a lead. The murder weapon was left at the scene of the crime. Perhaps he dropped it in the violence of the moment." He gestured to short dagger left where it had fallen. Levy looked closer and saw what he had meant. The artisan's mark.

The Redfox mark.

**===][===**

Gajeel Redfox was a blacksmith working in his shop, Redfox Smithing. He stood at an anvil, striking his latest creation over and over again with a hammer, trying to bring shape to it. It was a sword, ordered for show by some rich nob. He wore a heavy leather apron to guard against the heat and his long black hair was drawn back to protect it from errant sparks.

"Excuse me, Mr Redfox?" Asked a small voice. He glanced over to look at the woman who had entered his shop. He thought that she looked vaguely like a child who had dressed up as Sherlock Holmes. Then again, Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle's fictional detective was popular these days. Perhaps that was not so shocking. She looked at the wares in his store with more than a passing curiosity. Good. He did good work, after all.

"What can I do for you, little missy?" He asked dismissively, returning to his work.

"That is 'Detective-Inspector McGarden', not 'little missy'," she replied curtly. He didn't seem interested. How trying, Levy thought. "I am here on the business of a recent murder."

"Over in the alley a few streets away? Aye, I heard of it in passing. Terrible business these days."

"Terrible business. Interesting choice of words, since it seems like you have received business from said murder." An eyebrow rose and Levy pressed on. "The murder weapon was one of your works." A moment passed in which only Gajeel's hammering broke the silence. "Have you no response to that?"

"You haven't asked me a question yet," Gajeel replied, his mouth splitting into a toothy grin.

"Then what say you to the accusation that you committed the murder?" Levy demanded, fire in her eyes. To her surprise, he laughed, an unusual chuckle reverberating from his shoulders.

"I make half the sharp pointy things in this district. I would have guessed that they've been used in murders before." He looked at Levy challengingly. She had known that. Records had shown that Gajeel had been questioned by the police on previous murders and she was just testing him, to see if he would lie or be honest.

"Blacksmithing," she pondered. "A business on the decline, no?"

"It is true that the foundries hurt an honest businessman like myself, but as long as horses need shoes and kitchens need knives, Redfox Smithing will have a place. You just don't get that feel with tempered steel. Iron needs love in it, to be crafted into shape by strong hands. Those knives will always be sharper than those factory produced garbage."

"'Smithing' is not a word," Levy said quickly.

"What?"

"Your name. Redfox Smithing. 'Smithing' is not a word. You can be a smith or a blacksmith, and you can be blacksmithing, but you cannot be smithing."

"You're a wordy little runt, aren't you?" He asked disinterestedly. "But I'd wager that illiterate blacksmiths are ten a penny. Midget detectives on the other hand, strike me as a rarity."

"I am not…you are a very trying man," Levy huffed. "I demand the respect of my station."

"Fuck you, I'm not giving it to you," he replied laconically. "I've met a lot of coppers in my time, and I don't particularly care for your jumped-up breed."

Levy sighed deeply unused to such profanity in her life. "Do you keep records? Could we trace who you sold this knife to?"

"Not one for that bookkeeping stuff," Gajeel said with a shrug. "Can't read or write, save for my own name."

"How sad," Levy replied earnestly. The next second, the sword Gajeel had been working on was pointed at her throat.

"If you want to see a murder, try patronising me again," he growled.

"You threaten a member of Scotland Yard with murder? Then you are a fool," Levy replied coolly, holding his gaze. He made an annoyed tut and returned to his hammering. "Well, if I have any more questions, I will return."

"You're going out there to hunt a murderer?" Gajeel asked sceptically.

"Don't think badly of me because I'm a woman. Have you forgotten that we live under a queen?"

"Old lady Vic's never had to fight a murderer. You're awfully small. Here, take this." Levy managed to catch the object that he threw at her. It was a heavy metal cane, common among the higher classes.

"I don't understand," she said.

"It's a cane sword. If you twist the top, it comes free and there is a blade inside. It might help you if you get ambushed. And I don't know about you, but if I was going to murder someone, that'd be my weapon of choice instead of some poxy knife. Concealed in plain view until the last moment."

"Do you often consider murder attempts?" Levy asked with a smirk.

"In these parts, knowing how to kill someone might come in handy. Remember, _Inspector, _if you corner your quarry, he isn't going to come quietly. That sword might be the difference between life and death."

"Thank you, Mr Redfox. I shall carry it with me. Good day."

**===][===**

"So, what did you make of him, Levy?" Jetson asked, casting a scowl through the window of the shop. Redfox looked a bit too much like the worst sort of ruffian to him.

"I'm not sure," Levy replied honestly with a deep frown. The man was perplexing and frustrating, to say the least. "But he at least seemed truthful in his speech. I imagine that he felt in control enough to speak his mind. Nonetheless, we must keep an eye on him, for he is our only lead for the moment."

**===][===**

_The need was different this night. Animalistic male pride rose inside the Slayer. These were his alleys! No one else's! He needed to defend them, patrol them. No one else was going to get in. There were footsteps, heavy breath, heartbeats._

"_Oi Rogue!" A male voice shouted. The Slayer thundered down to the corner, peering around. There was a young man there with short spiky blonde hair. He walked with the confident swagger of a man who knew how to handle himself. How dare this fool defy his turf? Didn't he know who was boss, who was the alpha male around here? He would learn his lesson the hard way._

_Sting swung around at the last possible moment, and just before iron slipped under his ribs and into his heart he caught a glimpse of his assailant. Red eyes and black hair. Just like…_

"_Rogue!" He screamed again, the last word to ever escape his lungs as blood forged up after the escaping air, filling his respiratory system. On dry land, Sting had time to drown._

**===][===**

"Oh no!" Constable Macao shouted, reefing through the papers on his desk madly. "Don't tell me that it's true!"

"What is it?" Constable Wakaba asked, clearly thinking that his partner had been working too hard.

"The woman who was murdered last night…it seems like Alberona might not be her real name. Her mother separated from her husband and used her maiden name." He shuddered. "It might have been…Cana Clive."

"Clive!?" Wakaba exclaimed, his pipe falling from his gaping mouth. "You don't mean…"

**===][===**

"My daughter is dead?" Gildartz Clive asked, his voice taut. The man's broad shoulders were draped in a heavy fur cloak, made of white tiger hide from Siberia, speaking of his wealth and influence. He lowered his head into his hands, his expression grave.

"I'm very sorry, boss," Laxus Dreyar said quietly. "I can't change what happened…but me and the boys, we're willing to do what needs to be done."

"Yes," Gildartz replied, voice curling in rage. His eyes glared at Laxus, the younger man feeling a rare moment of fear. Very few things scared Laxus, but the old man was one of them. There was one sick son of a bitch loose in London, and he just happened to kill the daughter of the most powerful man in the underworld. "I want the city turned upside down to find this scum, and I want him naked and prostrate before me so I may kill him in whatever manner so pleases me."

"Can do, boss. But what about the coppers?" Laxus asked.

"In this matter, kill anyone who gets in your way. I _will _have my revenge."


	2. The Cheney Household

**===Chapter 2===**

**The Cheney Household**

"This is much sooner than I expected, Levy murmured, disquiet. No corpse was pleasant to look at, but poor Master Eucliffe here had seemed to suffer only a single blow, leaving him far more intact than Lady Alberona the previous night.

"Straight in, up under the ribs," Constable Macao summarised with a low whistle. "The bastard clearly knows where to aim."

"No murder weapon this time?" Jetson questioned as he scribbled away furiously.

"None. Nothing connects this murder with the one last night. They could be completely unrelated."

Levy looked up at Macao sharply, her eyes hard. "Do you really believe that?"

"No," he said with a sad sigh. "But we have another lead this time. There is man called Rogue Cheney. He is…_was _the best friend of Sting Eucliffe. He was apparently in the vicinity at the time, but didn't see anything. Still, it's probably worth questioning him further."

"It's not like there's anything else we can do," Levy agreed. They never noticed the green haired man hiding at the end of the alley, listening to as much as he could. Hearing them about to leave, Fried pushed his collar up to cover his face and strode away.

**===][===**

"Are we sure that this is the right address?" Levy asked, staring at the large mansion in amazement. It turned out that Cheney was a name she had just about remembered from the press. They were famous for….something, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Yes, Levy," Jetson replied, flipping through his notepad. "The Cheney household are in the business of medicine. Last year, they reported a profit of…"

"Thank you, Jetson," Levy responded, cutting him off. This was troubling. A family with such wealth could form blocks, even for the law. If they decided to close ranks and not participate, this could become a thousand times more difficult.

They headed through the front gate and past the elaborate garden up to the main entrance. Levy stretched up to slam the knocker three times against the door. At last, the door opened to reveal the Cheney's butler – an enormous man with shocking green hair. He peered down at Levy as if suspecting a joke and then alighted on Jetson.

"Ah, you must be the Inspector," he rumbled in low tones. "We've been expecting-"

"Actually, I am Detective-Inspector McGarden," Levy chimed in, forcing herself in front of the butler. He managed to hide any surprise well. "This is my associate, Dr Jetson."

"Please, do come in." The butler, who identified himself as Orga Nanagear after a brief questioning led them to a drawing room and told them to wait. Apparently Master Cheney was partaking of his morning ablutions and would join them shortly. He left as the door knocker sounded again.

"He's washing?" Jetson asked with a raised eyebrow. "Destroying evidence?"

"Let us not get too paranoid, my friend. Innocent people bathe too. At least, I hope you did this morning!" Her eyes twinkled with humour but suddenly she cried out as a person pushed roughly past her. She barked an angry cry as she span around to see that the man was none other than Gajeel Redfox.

"Watch where you're going," he growled.

"Excuse me!" Levy huffed, quite irate. "It is ungentlemanly to barge into a lady."

"I ain't no gentleman, and you're no lady," he replied languidly. Jetson snarled and balled his fists, infuriated that someone could be so crass to Levy. Gajeel smirked as he noticed the movement. "Not in a million years could you take me."

Levy wanted to stop him, seeing that it would be a mistake, but Jetson was too fast. A fist lashed out at breakneck speed. Gajeel's head slipped to the side calmly, dodging it by the merest fraction of an inch. In return, he smashed a hand into Jetson's arm, overbalancing him and sending him head over heels to the floor.

"Take that as a warning. I'm in a good mood today," Gajeel said in the most annoyingly cocky tones. Levy was quite amazed, not thinking that anyone could keep up with Jetson's reflexes.

"Do you think that you could limit your fisticuffs while in my house?" Asked a smooth, cultured voice. Levy turned as Rogue Cheney entered the drawing room. He was a young man in his early twenties at the oldest, with mid-length black hair and the same red eyes as Gajeel. But where Gajeel's features were broad and brutish, Rogue's were refined and smooth. There was no familial resemblance, save for those eyes. Still, it might be worth checking…

"I didn't think that both of you would come at the same time," Rogue commented. "Please Inspector, allow me to finish my business with Mister Redfox briefly."

"Please continue," Levy asked, curious to watch. She heard Jetson rise to his feet behind her.

"Is it ready, then?" He asked Gajeel eagerly.

"I wouldn't have bloody come if it wasn't," Gajeel responded with trademark truculence, waving around the scabbard in his hand. Levy hadn't even noticed it in his rudeness and cursed herself. She was a detective for crying out loud! Try to be more observant! She opened her eyes and paid attention.

This man Rogue was a dispassionate man. He didn't respond at all to the other man's brusqueness. Still, he seemed to light up at the prospect in Gajeel's hands. He cut a dapper figure in an exquisitely tailored suit.

Gajeel on the other hand was an outwardly argumentative person, and dressed scruffily to boot. Still, he was a blacksmith – proper finery would be quickly destroyed, so that in itself was not an indicator of lazy hygiene. Combined with his general demeanour however, would lead one to suspect Gajeel of not being a well turned out individual. But…he handled the sword well. He clearly treated the iron with better care than other human beings.

"Exactly as requested," Gajeel stated, drawing the gleaming sword. "Three and a half foot ceremonial blade with a basket hilt. It's not sharpened, so you're not likely to do yourself an injury with it."

"It is most beautiful," Rogue agreed warmly. Levy watched him take the sword and scabbard separately and sheathe the blade. He clearly knew how to handle a sword. "Thank you Mr Redfox. I shall have my accountant make sure that you have your payment within the day."

"Most gracious, my lord." There! Levy couldn't help but see that. The words did not match the demeanour at all. Gajeel looked much more interested in punching Rogue in the face than giving such politeness, but held himself in check. For the money, presumably. Gajeel marched out of the room, making it feel much more spacious. The man had one hell of a presence.

"Now Detective-Inspector, what can I do for you?" Rogue asked politely.

"We're here to talk about the murder of Sting Eucliffe," she started, heading right for the jugular. If Rogue was upset, he gave no outward sign of it. His eyes continued their dispassionate stare.

"I'm not sure how much help I can be to you, Inspector. I wasn't there. I happened upon his corpse."

"Well, can you describe to me the events of the night?" Levy asked as Jetson poised with pen over notepad. Rogue shrugged.

"Sting and I were hitting the taverns. It is common for us to do so; you can ask the barkeeps in the area if you wish to verify that. As we were staggering home, Sting headed into an alley to…" Rogue's mask slipped, his expression becoming uncomfortable. "…empty the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk. The next thing I heard was him calling my name. I thought that maybe he'd gotten lost in the alleyways in his inebriated state, but then I heard him scream again."

Levy noticed that while his face was calm, his fists were clenched, trembling.

"That scream…it was the scream of death. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. I wish that I had been closer, able to intervene in time, but I wasn't. By the time that I reached him, he was bleeding to death. Maybe he was still alive at that point, but he was so far gone that I couldn't say."

"I'm sorry to press you on such a grim topic Master Cheney, but did you not see his assailant at all?" Levy asked kindly, gently. Rogue shook his head.

"I am no expert, but I did hear footsteps fleeing the scene. They sounded heavy enough to be those of an adult man, but I suppose that's no great surprise."

"Weren't you scared? Perhaps he could have killed you as well."

"I confess that my thoughts at that time were not particularly clear. Seeing my best friend lying dead left me in a panic. In retrospect I wish that I had run in the other direction and alerted the police immediately."

Levy nodded along and then switched topics, wrong-footing the young Cheney. "What was the sword for?"

"Ceremonial purposes," Rogue replied after a moment.

"I gathered that, but what ceremony, exactly?"

"I imagine that you know that my family is in the medical business. My father is a doctor, as was his father. I cannot pretend that has not given me a great life with opulent wealth…but it is not the path for me. In one month's time I am to be sworn into her majesty's armed forces as Lieutenant Rogue Cheney. This sword is for that occasion."

"Congratulations. I imagine that the uniform will suit you," Levy said with a smile. She frowned as a thought occurred. "But don't the army produce their own weapons?"

"Mr Redfox is ex-military himself. If you'll excuse the vanity, I thought that I'd rather enjoy spending the money to get a custom made sword from an expert in the field. It is one of the privileges of wealth."

"Ex-military? Just how old is Mr Redfox? He cannot be more than his early twenties, surely?"

"Is this…professional curiosity, Inspector?" Rogue asked, completely straight-faced. Levy flushed slightly. In hindsight, that question had been quite meaningless. It had nothing to do with anything. But…wasn't he a lifelong blacksmith? She'd thought that it'd been his profession for years, perhaps even his heritage. She had to confess the timelines didn't seem quite right.

"I have never asked, but Mr Redfox is a rather…violent man. If I had to hazard a guess, I would suggest that he was drummed out of the service for disobedience or fighting within the ranks. An early retirement, so to speak. So he switched from a career of beating men to one of beating iron."

Levy couldn't help but smile at that choice of words. Perhaps he was emotionally void, but Rogue appeared a most erudite and well-mannered person. She could get used to his style of humour. She bid him a good day, and promised to return if she had any news on the killer of his friend.

**===][===**

"So, we're no closer to finding anything out," Jetson sighed outside of the Cheney household. "Other than the assailant was probably a full grown male. Not particularly surprising."

"Perhaps, but these two gentlemen - Mr Cheney and Mr Redfox - are quite interesting. I feel like there is something more to the pair of them." Levy was so deep in thought that it took her a moment to catch Jetson's inscrutable expression. "I mean purely in the sense of this murder, of course!"

"Neither is linked to the murder in any serious way," Jetson replied irritably.

"Really?" Levy's eyes shone. "Mr Cheney was the one to find the body. The killer will always have the opportunity to be there first, which means that he's currently our number one suspect. I'm not going to rifle through his garbage but for the moment, I want to keep an eye on him."

**===][===**

_The full moon rose high into the night sky, illuminating London below._

_He needed to do it! He was alpha male, and people didn't know it! He needed to proclaim his name from the rooftops! Of course people would disturb his domain and challenge him; he had to send a clear, undeniable message._

_The Slayer was here. Under his heavy cloak was a sword this night; a weapon to cause considerable damage, much more than a mere knife. But he needed a victim, someone to be his ink to write the message. He just had to be patient; someone always violated his domain._

_There! Three sets of footsteps. That made sense. In the light of the recent killings, people were afraid of him, moving in bigger packs. Good! That would make the message more strongly. Three men, all preening fops. They'd have no chance. Even worse, they were drunk. They were always drunk, weren't they? He hoped for sober prey soon to spice things up a bit._

_The Slayer pounced like lightning, far too fast for the drunken men to react. With one swift motion he pierced the shortest's heart from behind, sliding in between ribs expertly. The pommel crashed into the face of the second man disorientating him briefly. _

_He used the moment to kill the third man, a taller man with darker skin. His head and body went separate ways. The staggering man recovered enough to cast a horrified glance at his friends and scream their names._

"_Eve! Ren!" Balling up all of his courage, Hibiki swung a fist at his would-be murderer. Silver flashed and his arm went flying aside. He screamed in pain as the bastard laughed._

_And then he too died._

_The Slayer began his art. Organs were his brushes as he smeared his name on the wall, laughing and singing to himself. At last he admired his handiwork, the name 'The Slayer' tattooed on the wall in huge crimson letters. Let London tremble before his-_

"_Here! This way!" A man shouted, heavy footsteps crashing on the cobblestones._

_What?_

"_You sure, Bixlow?" Said another voice, also male but lighter in tone._

"_The screams were this way, I'm sure! Then I _could hear the bastard laughing!_"_

"_What a hassle!" A female voice complained._

_The sound of metal on metal. Blades being drawn. A gun being cocked. _

_Heart pounding with adrenaline, the Slayer hurried into the night. What was this? Was he being…hunted? No, that made no sense, he was the hunter. But this feeling made him uneasy. He didn't like it; he would have to ponder this and take action._

**===][===**

A match lit, his cigarette ignited, Laxus' hands sheltering it from the wind. He walked calmly into the alley, ignoring the three dismembered carcasses as if they were just scenery.

"My apologies Laxus, he got away," Fried said, bowing low. Bixlow and Evergreen stayed nearby, worried of their bosses' wrath, but unwilling to leave Fried to handle him alone. Laxus didn't respond, instead slowly turning to regard the name on the wall. He chuckled.

"Is this guy weak in the head? 'The Slayer'? It sounds like the name a child would call himself while playing in the schoolyard." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "Don't fret the small stuff Fried. We weren't going to catch him in one night. We should consider ourselves lucky to have found him at all, seeing as he's one man and London's a big place. Still, let's get moving. I don't want to be here when the coppers arrive."

Laxus and his henchmen left, leaving the three men to rot in the street.


	3. Lucy Heartphilia

**===Chapter 3===**

**Lucy Heartphilia**

Levy sighed deeply as she sat alone in her study. The latest murder scene had been most ghastly, but it led her no closer to the criminal. It was frustrating. Her books had taught her that all crimes had a series of clues leading to the perpetrator, but real life didn't seem so kind.

She was not so naïve, though. Levy looked at her certification hanging proudly on the wall. She was a member of Scotland Yard, despite her age and gender. She'd fought an uphill battle for recognition for her entire life and been rewarded with the minimum acknowledgment possible. That in itself was a feat, but she wanted to establish herself as something more, something extraordinary.

The Slayer. What an appropriate name her foe had chosen for himself. But…he appeared to be a madman, killing at random. How could one possibly ascribe motive to such actions? And without motive went one of the detective's most powerful tools.

That of course assumed true randomness. Was there a pattern here? The locations were the only thing in common. Dark alleyways in the dead of the night. The murders were fairly separate to look at a map, but they gave a certain sense of locality, engulfing her office, Redfox Smithing and the Cheney Household.

She shook herself. Why was she even pondering this Redfox fellow? The only thing that linked him to the crime was the knife, and it was quite true that that indicated nothing. Otherwise no one would produce weaponry for fear of prison time! And it wasn't as if he was a nice man; he was rude and crass. But that hair was rather splendid.

Levy went bright crimson in her cheeks and slapped herself. Clearly, she was weary and allowing her thoughts to wander. Perhaps a visit to her best friend was in order, to relax and recharge her energy. Then again, she didn't like Levy dressing so mannishly, did she? So that meant dressing like a lady. She screwed up her eyes and summoned all of her courage.

"Mira! I need a change of attire!" She called loudly. Footsteps hurried to her door like gunfire. Mira burst in, eyes aglow.

"Then, shall we dress you up?" She asked happily.

**===][===**

Levy sat in the back of a coach feeling quite frustrated. There was nothing quite like having Mira prod and shove her into a dress and yank her hair into shape to make her feel glum. Why was society so set on normative behaviour? Why couldn't one simply dress as one wanted? After all, not everyone was equal in their ability to wear a flattering dress. Some women were more…dainty. Yes that was a good choice of word.

Her hair was tied back into a bun and she was wearing an elegant blue dress. It was pretty enough, but she hated the way the voluminous skirt restricted her legs and the ridiculous bobbing motion that it gave to her stride. She glowered, remembering the way Mira looked at her like a doll to dress up, probably aided by her diminutive stature.

The coach stopped and the driver went to let her out, but she let herself out before he got there and stepped onto the cobblestones below. She was always a bit overwhelmed by the size of the Heartphilia estate before her. It dwarfed that of the McGardens, and they were not poor by any stretch of the imagination.

She wandered up the garden path, nodding a greeting to the gardener, Droy, who worked on lots of properties in the area, including her own. She missed his awestruck look as she pressed on and knocked on the main entrance's huge door. It opened to reveal the familiar form of the butler, Loke Leon. He greeted her warmly and took her to her friend's office.

"Levy!" Lucy Heartphilia sang happily as she entered. She rounded her enormous desk to take Levy in a hug. Levy returned it with as much force as she could. Levy and Lucy had been best friends for as long as either could remember. They'd studied at Cambridge together, Levy in criminology and Lucy in economics. Lucy practically purred as she took in her small friend's appearance. "You look wonderful! Mira keeping you in line, eh?"

"Something like that," Levy mumbled, trying not to admire Lucy's radiance, of how that corset displayed her ample bosom. Life just wasn't fair like that. In many cases Levy would remind herself that at least she had been gifted with a keen mind, but Lucy was the whole package: Beautiful, sexy, intelligent and fun. And tall…at least from Levy's point of view.

Lucy was heir to the Heartphilia Organisation, a massive merchant group that dealt with buying and selling just about anything one could imagine. They were immensely wealthy and it showed from every detail of the property.

"So, how's business?" Levy asked amiably.

"Fantastic!" Lucy beamed, going back to sit in her chair and gesture to the sheets of paper covering her large desk like a mountain. "We've just signed up three retailers in Plymouth. It was rather a nice coup on my part, I like to think. The travel was long, but seeing them in person was worth every second!"

"Plymouth? That's a large naval port, isn't it?"

"Oh my, yes! I tell you Levy, it was grand. The scale of operation there was staggering. Getting our hooks into such a lucrative trade route will really help us out!" She grinned evilly. "And you should have seen some of the ships! I thought that freighters were amazing, but you should have seen the HMS Dreadnought. The size of the guns…"

Levy giggled, wrinkling her nose with humour. "I never took you for the military type! Or is your new beau bringing out the love of firepower in you?"

"Natsu is not my beau," Lucy protested weakly. "He is my admirer. Confidant. Close friend."

"Boyfriend? Fiancée? Husband?" Levy laughed.

"Oh yes? And what about you? Has Jetson finally summoned the courage to ask you out?"

"What!?" Levy exclaimed. "We're only working partners! He hasn't got any interest in me in the personal sense!" _How could he? I'm so small…and I know that my profession is unappealing. Men want wives and child-bearers, right?_

Lucy shook her head. How on earth could a person be so dense while being a great mind in the field of analyzing people's motives and behaviours? Poor Jetson could hand her a box of chocolates and she'd merely think that it was dessert. If he wrote a love poem, she'd criticize its literary qualities.

"Levy, you will have to stop being so hard on yourself. You're only seventeen. There is plenty of time to meet eligible bachelors yet."

"Um…actually I wanted to talk to you about that…," Levy said falteringly. Lucy became spiritedly interested, leaning forward with crystal clear eyes, her mouth in a happy little v. "It's just that there's this man – a suspect, really – that I just can't get out of my head."

"A suspect?" Lucy responded, face falling into wary concern.

"Well, not really a suspect. Have you read the papers recently?"

Lucy blanched. "Levy, please tell me that you're not involved in the case of 'The Slayer of London Town'."

"I am," Levy replied firmly, not allowing her friend to treat her like some kind of invalid. She understood the risks that the criminal element posed, but would not back down before them. Lucy sighed, clearly resigning herself to grudging acceptance.

"So, this man is a suspect?"

"Sort of. The knife used in the first murder was made by him. However, he also told me that he couldn't write save for his own name, and the Slayer wrote on the wall, so I suppose it couldn't have been him."

"Unless he was lying. Or he considers 'The Slayer' to be his name," Lucy interjected.

"I did think of that. I'm not ruling anything out…but I find him to be crowding my thoughts a lot of late."

"So you think that there's more to him? That he might have done it? What was his name?"

Levy felt glad that Lucy has assumed professional interest rather than personal. "His name is Gajeel Redfox."

"Gajeel," Lucy repeated, standing and walking over to the cabinets that lined her walls. She pulled out a drawer and leafed through some papers, eventually plucking one out and sitting back down. She began to read. "Gajeel Redfox of Redfox Smithing is a blacksmith and orders metal through our organisation."

Levy blinked in mild surprise. She had come here for emotional counselling, not for practical advice. She hadn't considered the extensive roots of the Heartphilia organisation. Lucy frowned suddenly.

"Recently, his orders have increased two-fold. I have no idea what for, but he's suddenly began using up a lot of metal. Perhaps he's had an influx in orders."

"That's interesting," Levy agreed.

Lucy looked up with pursed lips. "It is purely on legal matters that I share this with you, alright? If you came to me with a warrant I would have to divulge this information anyway, so let's just pretend that we've skipped that part."

"I understand," Levy replied, nodding sagely. Lucy thrust a piece of paper into her hands and she began to read. It was a letter of referral. All suitably large clients or risky prospects required some kind of guarantor for the Heartphilias to serve them. Levy rather assumed that Gajeel fell into the latter category.

_Dear Miss Heartphilia,_

_I understand that you request a letter of referral for a Mister Gajeel Redfox in respect to orders he has placed with you. It would be my pleasure to furnish you with said letter._

_I met Gajeel Redfox as a young man, unkempt and out of control. He sought a place in the queen's forces as a way to vent his violence on the world in a way that prevented him from becoming entangled with the police. I was personally responsible for his training._

_I watched the violent young man turn into a splendid soldier in a few years. Gone were the callowness and back-talk, to be replaced by discipline and a strong sense of will. Perhaps most gratifyingly, he took up role as regiment quartermaster, in charge of our weaponry and equipment. Creation brought the man peace that destruction never could._

_Unfortunately, in the line of duty, Mr Redfox suffered an injury that ended a possibly glorious career. It was with deep regret that I watched him be sent back home. However, it fills my heart with great joy to know that he has returned to an occupation of crafting. I hope to have a chance to visit it myself one day._

_So, if one were to ask me if Mr Redfox would be a suitable client, then I give him my full backing as a member of the queen's officers. Please write to me if you require further correspondence. I am aware that this old man tends to ramble._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Captain Makarov Dreyar_

"He was injured in service?" Levy mumbled to herself. She hadn't seen an injury or a limp; what was the nature of the wound? But she remembered the way that he'd dodged Jetson's punch. That had clearly shown a level of fighting experience. And if it was the case that he'd become polite, he'd clearly regressed out of the military.

"The letter's not exactly the sort of thing we look for in a referral," Lucy noted, "but with the weight of a captain behind it, we thought that it was sufficient. That name, do you recognize it?"

"Makarov, wasn't he the one who won the campaign in India?" Levy asked to a nod of affirmation. That was certainly a famous war and it had made many famous names. Is that where Gajeel had fallen?

Lucy leaned forward, a predatory smile on her face. "Now, have I helped your investigation or your love life?"

Levy made her excuses to leave, blushing madly as she did so.

"The Trimen."

"Huh?" Levy wheeled to face Lucy again. She was resting her head against her hands and tears were at the corners of her eyes.

"Hibiki. Ren. Eve. I knew them all. They were foolhardy playboys, but they were good honest men. They didn't deserve this. Please, Levy. If you're going to catch this man, do it soon. I don't want any more people to die."

**===][===**

Alzack O'Connell yawned and looked up from his paperwork at the clock. It was late, he thought. He really should give up on this tax return for now. It could wait to the morning; Bisca might well not. He chuckled and went over to the coat rack, pulling his jacket over his shoulders.

He wheeled in place as his window exploded inwards, a darkened figure amongst the razor sharp glass, warded off by his thick black cloak. Alzack panicked; this could only be the famous Slayer! Perhaps if he could grasp his identity and flee he could be a hero!

But it was not to be, the Slayers face was now covered by a plain oval metal mask, revealing only his eyes amidst his crown of raven hair. He held up trembling hands.

"I am a simple accountant, you have no reason to kill me," he stammered, words spilling over one another in his haste to get them out.

"No, I don't," the Slayer agreed. "You're just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Alzack ducked to the side as a knife slammed into the wall behind where his head had just been. Diving behind his desk he drew a flintlock pistol from the second drawer down and surged over the desk, aiming it for where the murderer had just been. The Slayer was right in his face and wrenched the firearm out of his hands and smashed the grip into Alzack's face.

Alzack howled in pain as his nose broke and stumbled backwards onto his rear. He looked up to see the Slayer perched on his desk, looking down on him with the inquisitive gaze of a hawk making sure that its prey was finished. He reached inside of his cloak and another dagger slipped out.

For once, the Slayer didn't stop to enjoy himself and instead passed into the storeroom adjacent to the office. It was a short search to find the drawer marked 'B'. He pulled it open and began to rifle through the papers inside. He murmured as he searched.

"Bixlow…Bixlow, he said. It was Bixlow. Maybe Bickslow? Bickslough? Maybe not his surname?"

He was rewarded, clutching a bloody piece of paper in his gloved hands. Bixlow. A man's name and his wife.

And an address.


	4. Decapitation Strike

**===Chapter 4===**

**Decapitation Strike**

"So he can read," Levy stated firmly, assessing the crime scene in one go. The assembled policemen looked at her as if she was insane. Amidst all of this devastation, with a dead body lying over there, she was talking about reading?

"But all of this damage," Macao spluttered.

"The devastation is not total," Levy asserted. "There was a fight in this room – the damage to the furniture and window makes that clear – but then only a single drawer was ruined in this other room. He was searching for something. I suspect that Mr O'Connell may have just been unfortunate."

"What would he have been searching for?" Wakaba asked, interest clearly piqued.

"Someone's name beginning with 'B'. I imagine he was trying to hunt someone down and was hoping that he was a client at Mr O'Connell's practice."

"Who?" Macao asked.

"I don't know, I'm looking for the name that isn't here. It would be impossible to deduce. Hmm…constable, could you please put out a press release asking all of Mr Connell's clients whose surname begins with 'B' to meet you at the station? Then cross-reference them with the files here."

"That's a lot of work for little chance of reward," Macao grumbled.

"I know, but we have so few leads, we must chase everything," Levy said fiercely. She turned to leave. "In fact, there is something I have to confirm one way or another."

**===][===**

"Can you read!?" Levy demanded sharply as she burst into Gajeel's workshop apropos of nothing. He looked up at her from his anvil, clearly bewildered.

"W-what?"

"I asked if you could read! You told me that you couldn't!"

"What the fuck, woman?" Gajeel growled angrily. "Are you trying to mock me? I know my flaws and I don't need you rubbing them in!"

"This is important!" Levy insisted.

"Do you think I won't beat the shit out of you because you're the law? Because you're a little girl? You better start making some fucking sense right now or I'll place your head on this anvil and smash it like a watermelon!"

"It concerns your innocence! I can't say more than that, so just tell me!" She pressed hotly.

"No! I can't fucking read! Not a single fucking letter!" He shouted at her, stomping closer to loom intimidatingly over her head. "I know how to write Gajeel Redfox and that's it! Oh, I also know that the first one is called g if that's a big deal," he spat sarcastically.

Levy took out a notepad and pen. "Write red."

"What?"

"It's part of your name! Write the word red!"

Gajeel frowned, confused by her tactics. He took the items and with trembling, inexpert hands scribbled something and handed it back to Levy. She took a look and sighed in relief.

He'd written the word 'fox'.

"Thank you, Mr Redfox. I believe you. You could be tricking me, but I don't think so. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Humph. Thanks," he replied coarsely, rolling his eyes. He turned back towards his anvil. "Now get the fuck out of here while I'm still being polite."

**===][===**

Levy felt oddly glad to strike Gajeel off as a suspect. In truth it made life harder, but it felt good to prove a man's innocence. Even though he could be faking illiteracy…no! She had to trust her instincts. He seemed completely sincere.

She entered her grounds and bumped right into Droy as she wandered lost in thought.

"Oh Droy! Forgive my clumsiness!" She cried, going bright red at her foolishness.

"N…not at all," he replied, going bright red for a different reason. He watched her leave and enter her house. He felt so stupid. She was far too good for him. But he wished he could be like that lucky orange-haired bastard who got to spend time with her all day.

He frowned, noticing a figure standing near the garden gate. It was a woman with long brown hair and delicate glasses.

"Excuse me ma'am, can I help you?" He called. Evergreen glowered at him and turned to leave without speaking. Droy frowned as she left. Had she been…following Levy?

**===][===**

Bixlow returned to his apartment in the small hours of the morning, exhausted. Laxus was really driving them in this matter. Gildartz wanted the impossible, and they would have to do it. Still, tonight had been incident free. He lit an oil lamp as he entered his home and set it down on the living room table as he normally did.

His heart stopped.

Right next to the lamp, square in the centre of the table was the head of his father, expression set to slack nothingness. He was shaking so violently, unable to comprehend the grisly scenario before him.

"You're a hard man to find."

Bixlow unashamedly squealed like a little girl, prancing away from the sound of that terrible voice. Shadowed in the doorway to the next room was the shrouded form of the Slayer, face still covered by the iron mask.

"Nice mask," Bixlow replied with a grin, trying to find some strength in bravado. "I like it."

The mask cocked inquisitively. "No response to the death of your father?"

"Psh. Pretentious asshole never approved of me. Glad he's dead, really."

"Oh? Then maybe this'll cheer you up." The Slayer threw something at Bixlow and he caught it with both hands. He hurriedly dropped the severed head of his mother in abject disgust. "Not so happy? See, I've been looking for you, and I found your parents instead. I asked them where you were. Your father was most compliant as your mother bled out."

"You're one sick son of a bitch," Bixlow growled. "You might kill me, but the boys will get you eventually."

"Now that's something I'd like to talk about," the Slayer said menacingly, advancing into the room. "You were chasing me. Why?"

"You killed our bosses' daughter. That insult cannot stand."

"I did? That's quite possible. The faces all sort of run together after a while."

"You're insane," Bixlow said breathlessly. "You kill for no reason. Five people so far."

"Five?" The Slayer laughed uproariously, shoulders shaking, head thrown back. "FIVE!? You have no idea! I have killed precisely one hundred and thirty six people. I'll add you to the list, right now."

Bixlow was pondering how he could have killed so many people if it had just come to light as he realised the import of his words. The Slayer closed the distance with staggering speed, blade produced from somewhere. His arm struck swiftly.

There was the sound of ringing metal. Bixlow had drawn his own stiletto dagger and parried the blow. The men's unusual eyes, one set ruby, one emerald met. They clashed, knives flickering at high speed. Bixlow winced as cuts appeared on his arms and one on his cheek. He couldn't penetrate this bastard's defences at all in return. He may be an opportunist, but he was no weakling.

He took a step back to regain his bearings as his foot caught something and he stumbled. In true macabre fashion, he saw his mother's head roll away as the Slayer pounced on him, driving him to the floor and knocking the breath from his lungs.

Both daggers were in the Slayer's possession now and he slammed them down into Bixlow's hands, pinning him to the floor. He placed a hand over the screaming mouth to stifle the noise. His mask came low, inches from Bixlow's nose.

"Now, before I let you die, I've got a few questions."

**===][===**

"That proves nothing," Jetson grumbled, arms folded. "In fact, it makes no sense. Even if he can't read, he can understand that red comes before fox and know that those are the letters to use."

"Jetson, please! I know that you don't care for him as a man, but he is not a murderer!"

"I never thought that he…" Jetson stopped abruptly and sighed, rubbing his temples. "Okay, if we're done wasting time with dead ends, do we have any leads on the case at all? Has Constable Macao contacted you about your idea yet?"

"No, but it's not likely to turn anything up," Levy replied glumly.

Mira burst into the office, clearly urgent. "Levy, Constable Wakaba is here to grab you; there's been another murder."

**===][===**

"Do we know who this man is?" Levy asked, looking down at the body. It was a most disturbing scene. Not only had the man been decapitated, but his head joined two others on the table, arranged in some macabre game.

"Um…the neighbours called him Bixlow, but none seemed to know his first name. It seems that he kept to himself and was out all the ungodly hours of the night," Wakaba filled in from his report.

"Bixlow…his name began with a 'B'," Levy replied, frowning deeply as she thought.

"Coincidence?" Wakaba shrugged. "If not, it would be the first incidence so far of the Slayer hunting down a specific individual so far."

"Yes it would," Levy agreed distractedly. She was looking at the man's right hand. There was evidence of stigmata through both palms, but apparently at some point between that and being separated from his head, his hand had been released and he had scrawled a messy message with his own blood.

_Red eyes_

"Oh no," Levy mumbled. That wasn't reassuring, but if this described his assailant, then it certainly narrowed things down a bit. A bit too much, for Levy's liking. "Come, dear Jetson! We must speak with Master Cheney and see if he has an alibi for last night."

**===][===**

Outside, Laxus watched the policemen at the scene from a distance. He seethed with rage, angry that Bixlow had allowed himself to die, furious at the Slayer for crossing him and worried about how much Bixlow had let on before he had died.

"Ever," he called coldly. "The second they're gone, I want you combing that scene for any little detail. We need to get a step ahead of this bastard quickly. Fried?"

"Yes, Laxus?"

"That girl. Follow her. She must have notes on the crime scenes so far. See if you can steal them. She's from the Yard, so I want to avoid hurting her, but in the end of the day, beat the shit out of her if you have to. We need information and fast. If we're slow, it may not be Gildartz who has our heads."

A moment passed where no one spoke and Laxus sighed, his shoulders sagging briefly.

"For Bixlow."

"For Bixlow," his comrades agreed with small smiles.

**===][===**

In a large square, a crowd was gathering. A preacher in a dark habit stood upon a wooden crate, gesturing wildly and lecturing the audience. He had raven hair and crimson eyes, called himself Brother Zeref and considered himself the Slayer's disciple.

"Don't you see? London is corrupt! The Slayer wishes to seek out corruption and excise those scum from our society!" He spoke with the fervour of a madman, convinced of his words.

"You're a loony!" Someone called from the audience and they laughed at the insult, enraging Brother Zeref.

"You are all fools! The Slayer is grand! Born of shadow, forged by iron! He's is god's hand! No, he is God himself, the Lord's wrath made incarnate! He will – gurkh!" His tirade cut off as someone kicked the crate out from underneath him and he hurtled into the cobbled street below. He rolled over, moaning feebly. A sharp heel dug into his chest and his angry cry stopped as his open mouth had a gun muzzle pushed into it.

A green-haired woman snarled down at him with fury. "If you consider this asshole son of a whore to be a god, then do me a favour. When you go to your bed this night, get on your knees, put your hands together, bow your head and tell him that Bisca O'Connell is going to blow his head off!"


	5. Confrontation

**===Chapter 5===**

**Confrontation**

"He's busy," Orga stated and slammed the door in Levy's face. She stood there for a moment, simply staring at the wood in surprise. Jetson watched her warily, practically able to see the steam pouring from her ears. She knocked again, harder and harder, but gained no response.

"Nothing we can do for now," Jetson said kindly. "We can just go and get a warrant and…"

He stopped as Levy took off her hat, removed a hairpin and picked the lock on the front door. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment as she disappeared inside and then dashed in after her with a pathetic squeal.

"What are you doing?" Orga snarled as he stormed back into the foyer. He glanced at the door. Had he not closed it properly? "I told you to leave!"

"And I chose not to," Levy retorted, ignoring the fact that this man was probably three times her weight, and angry as hell. "I am here to see Master Rogue and you will convey that message!"

"Why you little-" Orga ground out in a strangled voice. "I don't care who you are; if you trespass on this estate I will forcibly throw you out!"

"Thank you, Mr Nanagear, that will be enough," Rogue ordered as he entered the scene, walking down the stairs. Levy stared. He was naked, save for a towel around his waist. It exposed several scars on his torso. "I do wish Miss McGarden could have waited, though. I will require a few minutes to make myself decent. Please lead them to my study, Mr Nanagear."

"As you wish, my lord." Orga bowed low and led the pair away. As they waited for Rogue, Levy scanned the books on his shelves. It was all fairly standard literary affair, but she always felt happier when dealing with a well read person. Now dressed in fairly casual attire, Rogue joined them.

"Now, what couldn't wait for my bath?" He asked with thinly concealed amusement. "Have you located the killer yet?"

"No, Mr Cheney. In fact, we are here to question you on your whereabouts last night." A frosty silence descended on the room. Rogue's normally inscrutable expression only deepened.

"I was not aware that I was a suspect," he said at last.

"The most recent victim left a message that the Slayer had red eyes. A most uncommon eye colour, I am sure that you will agree."

"Not in my family," he responded easily, "but I can see why that may lead you here when combined with Sting's murder. You ask where I was last night? I can't give you any reassurance. I was here, alone in my room reading."

"What were you reading?" Levy asked.

"Huh? I don't see how that's relevant," Rogue replied coldly.

"Oh come now, Mr Cheney. Fulfil a fellow bibliophile's curiosity," Levy teased lightly. He didn't appear to share her camaraderie, sensing some deeper trap here. "You must remember, surely?"

"In fact I do not," He replied with some annoyance cracking through his façade. "I was drowsy and unfocused. I have no memory of which book I read."

"You…couldn't even think of a lie on the spot?" Levy asked archly. "Could you have not simply said 'Romeo and Juliet', or 'Macbeth'?"

"I'm not lying!" Rogue shouted hotly. Jetson tensed, interposing himself between the pair. Rogue's eyes flickered up at him with an angry snarl, but he made no aggressive movement. "Even if you believe my alibi to be dubious, that does not make me a murderer!"

"Murderer? Who said there was a murder last night?" Levy asked with a triumphant smile.

"Don't play such childish word games! Do you really think that you can ask me of my whereabouts on a given date during a murder investigation and that I wouldn't leap to that conclusion?" Rogue blazed with passion now.

"Rogue darling, perhaps you should tell them the truth," said a light female voice stepping into the study. She was a woman with dusky black hair and faint crimson irises. She carried herself elegantly into the room, moving with clear poise and grace.

"Mother," Rogue said quietly.

"I am Lady Cynthia Cheney, Rogue's mother. My son is telling you the truth, Inspector."

"Are you witness to his alibi?" Levy asked.

"No, I cannot vouch for his exact whereabouts, but as to the quandary of which book he was reading, I can shed some light."

"Mother, please," Rogue hissed. His mother smacked him over the back of the head.

"These are serious matters! You cannot hide your shame to save face here! You see, Inspector, my son suffers from a neurological condition that causes him to be unable to read."

"Dyslexia?" Levy asked, remembering that Rogue's family were doctors.

"Yes, a rather serious case. I have no doubt that he was reading, but I suspect that he was failing. Weren't you, darling?" Rogue looked away, face burning. "Poor thing tries so hard, but the letters are all a jumble to him."

"Shut up! I don't want sympathy!" Rogue snapped. He turned to leave the room, seething with anger. "I'm done talking with you! Orga! Throw the Inspector out!"

**===][===**

"Well, he certainly got touchy quickly," Jetson mumbled as they road in the back of a coach, returning to Levy's office. "You know, we can get a warrant and go back."

"I don't see much point at this time. He's answered all that I want to know. And if he is truly unable to read or write, then he isn't a suspect." She frowned, pushing her finger into her brow as she thought. "Both of our suspects had red eyes. That in itself is an amazing coincidence. But now, neither was the red-eyed killer? We have nothing?"

"Maybe red eyes meant something else. Maybe he was talking about his own death, that he saw the grim reaper or something."

"A bit philosophical for your dying moments," Levy replied wearily. She was tired. Her progress had hit zero. There were two basic ways forward. Prove that Gajeel or Rogue actually could read, or find another man with red eyes. Maybe another Cheney?

She looked up at a commotion and called for the driver to stop. Outside, a crowd was forming as Brother Zeref was again preaching. Levy gasped. Red eyes. And listening to him briefly, he sounded like he could possibly be the Slayer himself. Was he so foolish as to make himself so visible? She jumped out of the coach.

"Oi you!" She shouted, struggling to be heard as she pushed through the crowd. Why was everyone so damn tall? "I have some questions for you!"

Zeref glanced down at the tiny girl, having pushed her way to the very front, looking somewhat flustered for the experience. His smile was leering and ugly.

"And who do we have here, little girl? Lost your mother?"

"Where were you last night?" She shouted, cutting straight to the point.

"I was at home, deep in prayer. I called for the Slayer to show his justice and he did! Isn't it great?"

"People are dying!" Levy yelled, unable to control her rising anger. To be a murderer was one thing, but to be so sick as to applaud a murderer? She knew that criminals were like celebrities to some people, but still…this made her feel unwell.

"People should die!" He laughed maniacally. "You're all scum, worthy of the guillotine!"

The crowd began to boo and jeer and objects were thrown. Brother Zeref grimaced and jumped down from his crate, fleeing down an alleyway. Levy was about to run after him when she felt a hand reach into her pocket. Startled, she tried to grasp the offending arm, but with a powerful wrench she was sent spinning to the floor.

"Levy!" Jetson cried, hurrying to help her up, fearful of her being trodden in the crowd.

"My notebook!" She wailed, realising what had been stolen. But her assailant had long since disappeared into the crowd. She'd never even gotten a glimpse of him.

**===][===**

Fried eventually stopped running to check if he was being followed. He waited until his heart stopped pounding in his chest, and then began to skim Levy's notebook.

"Gajeel Redfox and Rogue Cheney? I imagine that Laxus will wish to 'interrogate' them as well."

**===][===**

It was late and the moon had risen, though it was concealed behind a heavy cloud bank. Levy sat sadly in her office. Mira had repeatedly tried to get her to retire for the night, but Levy couldn't. She was just so depressed. Everything was going so badly.

She had two suspects and it seemed that both were most likely innocent. There was a new, third suspect, but the preacher seemed like a talker rather than a doer in Levy's opinion.

Her notebook had been stolen. That was worrying. Why had anyone considered it worth taking? Who was interested in the case? And most importantly…if she had been a full grown male, she wouldn't have lost it, would she? No, it was the tiny weakling girl who had lost it. Everyone was right; she just wasn't cut out for this. Maybe she had the mind, but it wasn't enough.

She looked down at her attire. Bereft of her coat, she was wearing a vest and britches – both clothes made for young boys. They were the only things that fit her size. It was a constant reminder of her frailness, her limitation. What happened if she actually found the criminal? He'd overpower her in seconds.

Just as she was about to sigh despondently for the hundredth time, she heard someone shouting from the street outside. Looking out of the window, there was a green-haired woman strolling down the road with a rifle in her hands. She was shouting for the Slayer to show himself.

Levy didn't really think, she just acted. Pausing only to grab Gajeel's cane sword, she hurried from the office to confront this woman.

**===][===**

"Come out, you coward! You killed my husband, why don't you try killing me?" Bisca hollered down the street. She could hear people in windows whispering about the madwoman trying to get herself killed.

Levy ran up, shivering in the cold night air. Belatedly she wished she snagged her coat on the way out.

"Please ma'am, it's late and it's cold. Why don't you return to your home?" She asked kindly, politely.

"Get lost, Shorty. I've got a date with the Slayer," Bisca returned harshly.

"Um, you're Bisca O'Connell, right? I was there at the scene of your husband's death. I understand that you're hurt and confused-"

"Understand!?" Bisca swung around and Levy flinched as the barrel of the rife came her way. "You understand nothing, child! Do you know what it's like to have your lover taken away in an instant?"

"Um…no…"

"Then you understand nothing!"

Levy made a decision. As Bisca turned back, she threw herself at the larger woman, trying to knock the gun out of her hands. Levy might be small, but she'd learnt the close-combat training methods of Scotland Yard. This was her first real-life application, but she managed to stun Bisca and get the weapon pointing at the ground.

Bisca snarled and drove the stock back into Levy's sternum, sending her to fall on her ass on the hard cobblestones. As she looked up, Bisca was over her, pointing the rifle at her face, point blank. Levy could not understand the pain that drove a person to act this way.

There was a sound, awful, deafening. The sound of hundreds and hundreds of heavy metal chain links being dragged across the cobblestones of the street. In whatever mood had taken him this night, he'd wrapped them around his arms and legs, thinking that they added to his terror.

Levy was shaking like a leaf. The man was tall, but his girth was hidden under his heavy leather cloak. A metal oval mask covered his face, leaving black hair falling everywhere, length indeterminable in the darkness of the street. Eyes like rubies burned in the eyeholes of the mask.

"I have been challenged. This cannot go unanswered."

Said the Slayer.


	6. Battle with the Beast

**===Chapter 6===**

**Battle with the Beast**

The moment of silence in the wake of the Slayer's declaration stretched on and on. Levy was trembling violently, scared beyond reason. Bisca was terrified too, but then the face of Alzack came back to her and the rifle swung around, aiming for that blank mask.

The noise of the rifle suddenly appearing out of the silence so close shattered Levy's senses. She was helpless, unable to react to anything for a few moments. The Slayer on the other hand, swayed to the side at the precise moment the shot fired.

The Slayer's feet thundered over the cobblestones as he raced to cross the distance. Reloading the chamber, Bisca made her second shot in a time that would make any infantryman proud.

But it wasn't enough.

From over two metres away, one of the Slayer's lengthy chains cracked, knocking the gun so hard that it tore free from the woman's hands. Levy watched as the Slayer closed the remaining distance in a heartbeat, assuming that Bisca was dead.

But in that hearbeat, Bisca had produced a handgun from within her voluminous dress, and had the Slayer execution style at point blank range. No one moved, not even a muscle.

"I've got you," Bisca hissed. "For what you did to Alzack, you'll die."

"Have you got it in you, woman?" The Slayer mocked. "Killing isn't for girls."

"I'll do it."

"Do it. Do it, do it, do it! Come on woman, I haven't got all day!" The Slayer laughed maniacally, and there was no doubt to Levy that he was completely insane. Perhaps she should have tried to stop Bisca. This was an unlawful killing after all, but she was scared that if she distracted her, the Slayer would kill them both. And if he was truly insane, perhaps death was the kindest act all round.

The gunshot was as deafening as the first and the Slayer's head snapped back.

"Mk IV Webley Revolver. Effective range: fifty yards. At zero range can penetrate up to two centimetres of iron, no more." Levy and Bisca froze as the Slayer's head came down slowly, smoke drifting from the forehead of his mask. "My mask is one inch of reinforced iron. Sorry love, you lose."

Bisca gurgled as a pair of powerful hands grasped her throat. His thumbs pressed down on her windpipe, choking her. The Slayer's eyes seemed to gain life as life drained from her own. He threw Bisca aside as Levy moved in, having drawn the cane sword.

"Now, this is just offensive. Are children not afraid of me?"

"I am Detective-Inspector McGarden! I am the person who is charged with capturing you!" Levy asserted with boldness that she didn't feel. She was scared witless, but refused to leave this poor grieving woman to her fate. The Slayer began to laugh, until his entire body shook with mirth.

"You!? The mob sends better men after me than Scotland Yard?"

"The mob?" Levy asked.

"Ah, said too much. Can you wait your turn? She dies first." Levy had no idea what happened. Her sword skittered away across the ground in one direction and with a powerful gesture she was sent flying the other way. She landed in a wagon that had been parked outside of a tavern. It was empty of the barrels that had been delivered earlier. She hissed in pain on the wooden decking.

There was a brief scream, chilling Levy's blood.

Feet slammed down on either side of Levy. She looked up in abject fear as blood dripped onto her face from his soaked hands.

"Thanks for waiting. Your turn nowwwwooooooooooooow!" The Slayer's voice went into a shrill shriek as Levy's feet slammed upwards into his groin. She had no weapon though; she had no choice but to try and escape. She managed to fall over the side of the wagon and by complete accident kicked the chock that held it in place.

The Slayer appeared over the side of the wagon as it began to roll down the gentle slope pathetically slowly. His eyes were pure fury, pure murder. She was dead and she knew it. But then in a strange twist of fate, the Slayer's movements arrested and a hand flew to his mask, near the mouth.

"Motion sickness?" Levy gasped in disbelief. The Slayer hung on pathetically as the wagon made its slow transit to the bottom of the hill. In the darkness where Levy could not see his face, he removed his mask briefly and vomited onto the street.

Levy watched him stagger away into the night. She wanted to go after him, but she was hurting badly and had no way to stop him. If she went, he'd kill her.

But she felt strangely elated. He was human, he had flaws and weaknesses, like any other. He could be tracked, captured, beaten, killed. He was not some figment of the imagination, stalking the shadows like a spectre of death.

It was then that she noticed the blood pooling towards her from Bisca's corpse.

**===][===**

"LEVY! Thank God that you're okay!" Jetson cried as he rushed into her office. Levy made a strangled squawk as she was taken into a tight embrace, heedless of her injuries. Bless him, but Jetson was perhaps too straightforward for his profession.

"I'm fine. It'll take more than a few bruises to stop me!" Levy replied with a fierce grin. Jetson took in the spread of paperwork on her desk. She'd clearly been hard at work all morning.

"Stay with me Jetson, I want to compile everything we know so far. The Slayer is a man in his twenties or thirties, around six foot tall. His eyes are red and his hair is black. He has killed so far,nine people, with knives, swords, chains and his own bare hands. All his killings happen within this district, and he has shown the ability to read and write, as well as having motion sickness."

Jetson nodded along, and she continues. "Cana Alberona, nee Clive. Sting Eucliffe. Hibiki Laytes, Ren Akastuki, Eve Thylme. Alzack and Bisca O'Connell. The mysterious Bixlow and his parents. The first five all died in alleyways, apparently at random. Then the Slayer hunted down this Bixlow, taking the others in that endeavour."

"Do we know anything about this Bixlow?"

"No, but I'm sure that he's part of the mob. Constable Macao seems sure that Cana was the daughter of Gildartz Clive. Last night, the Slayer dropped the mob into conversation. I'm fairly certain that information on this Bixlow is so sketchy due to the fact that he's part of the underworld."

"That would make sense."

"So, I'd wager that Gildartz is after the murderer of his daughter, and is hunting the Slayer too. My notebook was stolen. Since it was so obviously targeted, I reckon that the most likely event was that it was Gildartz's men who stole it."

"I can see…"

"One more thing. The Slayer went into detail on a military spec gun. I'm no expert on these matters, but that wasn't a civilian weapon. The Slayer has knowledge of military weaponry."

"Gajeel was part of the army, and Rogue has passed his training," Jetson mumbled.

"Indeed. Everything that comes up infers those two and then saves them. The eye/hair colour combination is so unlikely that I'm not ready to give up on them yet. Either could be faking illiteracy. Both seem sincere…but I'm not happy. The more I ponder those two, the more unhappy I become."

"I'd trust your instincts," Jetson said with a broad grin.

"Thank you, my Dear Jetson," Levy replied. "I want to visit Macao and see if we can arrange for them to be under constant surveillance. Just let me grab my coat and-"

"Oh no you don't!" Mira snapped, bursting through the door. Levy looked like a little child who knew that she was in trouble, Jetson thought. Mira forced the smaller woman into her chair, which had been padded with lots of pillows and then drew a blanket over her. "You've not slept a wink all night and then got into all of that nasty business!"

"Mira, I am a member of Scotland Yard!" Levy pleaded.

"SLEEP!" Mira demanded and there was no other choice. Jetson made his goodbyes, promising to stop by the police station himself.

**===][===**

In the early morning Gajeel rolled down the stairs to his workshop. He stopped as he crossed the threshold, stunned by who was waiting for him. A large man with blonde hair and a jagged scar running over one eye sat upon his anvil, calm as anything. A willowy man and busty woman were with him.

"Greetings, Mr Redfox. Sleep well?" The blonde man asked.

"You've got some nerve," Gajeel growled, rolling up his sleeves. "I don't just make these weapons; I know how to use them too."

"I am Laxus Dreyar," the blonde man continued as if nothing had been said. "And these are my associates, Fried and Evergreen. We've come here today to ask you a few questions about the Slayer."

"The Slayer?" Gajeel's anger faded with sudden confusion.

"I'm sure you've heard of the name of Gildartz Clive." Gajeel shivered and Laxus went on. "He wants the Slayer dead. I tell you this in friendly camaraderie; I suggest you comply fully with us. You won't like the alternative."

Now that; that was too much.

Gajeel snarled and grabbed a metal pole stored near to him. His workshop was a treasure trove of weaponry, real and makeshift. In response, two guns were pointed at him from Evergreen and Fried. He recognized those from his military days. Webley Revolvers wouldn't do much to metal, but could easily make a mess of a human at this range. Shit, they were packing some serious heat.

"Gonna pick the wise option?" Laxus asked with clear amusement.

"I've never been good at making clever choices," Gajeel hissed, muscles tensing.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here then?" All four turned to look at the old man who had entered the workshop. He was unusually short and dressed in the red uniform of a captain in the military.

"Old man Makarov?" Gajeel blustered.

"Gramps?" Laxus looked about as shocked as he ever got.

"Still making trouble, boy? Haven't got yourself a proper job, then?" Makarov grumbled. Laxus looked in no mood to accept the old man's nagging, but Makarov was flanked by two other soldiers carrying rifles. A pink-haired boy with a troublesome expression and a black-haired boy who carried himself with cold indifference. Outside through the windows it could be clearly seen that an entire platoon of infantry had marched up.

"This isn't over," Laxus grumbled, moving past the soldiers. His henchman followed, departing into the cold morning air.

"What are you doing here?" Gajeel asked.

"Is that how you greet a senior officer, boy?" Makarov demanded sharply, though with a big grin. Gajeel snapped a salute, belatedly realising that he was a civilian now. "To answer your question though, we've just been barracked in the local military base. Thought an old man might stop by to check out how one of his own is doing."

"This is your shop?" The pink-haired boy did not look impressed.

"Just a pile of junk, right Natsu?" The black-haired one teased.

"More like lots of piles," Natsu mumbed.

"Private Dragneel! Fullbuster! Did I say to stand at ease?" Gajeel laughed as the two soldiers snapped back to attention under the captain's orders. Makarov ordered them to wait outside. "So, you are having problems, then?"

"Nothing I can't handle. Lowlife scum don't bother me," Gajeel snorted with contempt.

"Hmm. Well, I'll take you at your word, not that I particularly agree. How's your injury treating you?"

Gajeel reached up into his hair, running his fingers along the scar hidden by the raven strands. "I…still haven't regained the ability to read or write," he admitted glumly. "And sometimes I still forget things. If I don't keep my keys on a chain, I'd never find them."

"But your motor control…?" Makarov pressed.

Gajeel grinned. "I can certainly pound iron! I also seem fully capable of pounding people too! And I can also button a shirt, but it takes me a bit longer than it should."

"I'm glad to see that you're improving. It seems like business has also been improving since that deal with the Heartphilias."

"It's a bit hush-hush, but I got a big order in. Very wealthy client, lots of work." Gajeel looked away. "Hey, old man. You never told me why you were here. I mean, why you were barracked here."

"Oh? Well, it seems like the Queen's not been happy with reports of a murderer in London. It's been too much for the police force and the body count is rising."

"You mean…"

Makarov laughed. "Yes boy. It's like crushing a nut with a hammer, but me and my boys; we're here to stop the Slayer!"

**===][===**

_The girl, the girl. She had beaten him, humiliated him. That was too much. Struck by a whimsical mood that night, the slayer scaled to the tops of buildings and raced across London like some kind of Spring-Heeled Jack._

_The girl, the girl. So small, so weak had survived. She'd seen him and survived! There were men in red uniforms patrolling. He had to be more careful this night. They had rifles, and always stayed in pairs._

_The girl, the girl. She had to die. Had to die. His thoughts were muddy…focus on the soldiers!_

_The girl had to die._


	7. Divine Judgement

**===Chapter 7===**

**Divine Judgement**

Levy was a little confused by recent events. Makarov had come to her office to inform her of their arrival and desire to help with the investigation in any way possible. But the people in her office were just plain confusing. For some reason, he'd decided to bring the regimental musician and mascot, a hyperactive young blue-haired boy called Tim Happington, known affectionately as 'Happy' for obvious reasons.

He kept knocking all of the things over in Levy's office. Books, lamps, hat stands…it was most aggravating. Jetson was now practically hovering over him, forcing him to stay still.

But the other terrified Levy. The man was enormously tall, and broad to match. His ebon skin was taut with the muscles that held him together, his face monolithic and blank, save for a single scar running over one temple just shy of his alabaster hair.

"And what…sorry, what?" Levy asked, trying to refocus on what Makarov had just said.

"Based on recent events, I plan to permanently station this man with you, for security. His name is Leonardo Pardus, but we all just call him Lily."

"Does everyone in the military go by nicknames?" Levy asked, befuddled.

"Pretty much," Makarov replied with a broad grin. He inhaled deeply and became more serious. "Now, you treat him right! He may look a bit different, but he's one of my boys through and through. Been through many a battle together we have, and I've seen him risk his life for my men, and my men theirs for him."

"I…I'm sure. It'll be a pleasure to work with you, Mr Pardus!" Levy beamed, reaching out a hand. It was a sad fact that Queen Victoria's England was not a kind place for those of dark skin, but Levy would not allow herself to be so narrow minded. After all, a black man in the army was no more out of place that a woman in Scotland Yard! She balked as an enormous hand engulfed hers, but he applied no pressure and shook it gently.

"Thank you kindly, Inspector," he rumbled, flashing pearly teeth radiant against his skin. Levy assumed that he was happy that someone deigned to speak to him directly and fairly. "But please, call me Lily."

"No one fights harder than Lily here. I don't know what kind of man this Slayer is, but he's not going to come away from a fight with Lily with a big smile on his face." He pulled out a watch. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to visit a Mr Cheney over the matters of his induction."

**===][===**

The front door splintered before Laxus' fury. It was no small feat in and of itself, as the door was stout and tough. Orga ran forwards, bellowing his disbelief loudly and angrily. His right fist flashed out, but the blond haired man stepped in, driving his fist in a cross counter, breaking Orga's nose with a spray of blood.

"Stay down! My patience is wearing thin," Laxus shouted. "I want to see your master, right now!"

"I'd never-" Orgas' words stopped as Laxus kicked him viciously in the balls. He stooped to grab the butler's hair, yanking his head back. Their eyes met, filled with equal amounts of hate for the other.

"I said, I want to see your master, and I want to see him right now! I'm not here to speak to the hired help!"

"What are you doing?" Rogue cried as he hurried down the stairs. "You can't just break in here!"

"Why? Got some dirty laundry that you don't want me seeing, Slayer?" Laxus stalked up the stairs to meet him, but Rogue didn't shy away. His teeth clenched and his fists tightened.

"Is this some kind of vigilante justice? I am innocent, and I have provided Inspector McGarden with all of the information that I could! I am not the Slayer!" Laxus caught him by the throat and began to drag him up the stairs.

"I'll be the judge of that."

**===][===**

Makarov chuckled as the coach reached the mansion belonging to the Cheneys. He knew the aspiring lieutenant to be wealthy, but this was a bit much for the old man. He disembarked with Gray and Elfman, two of his more loyal soldiers.

"Help!" A maid cried as they entered the courtyard. Even from here, he could see the damage done to the main entrance. "There is a man inside, and he is attacking our master!"

_I hope it's not that damn boy again. _"Private Fullbuster, Strauss! Combat readiness! Treat this as a military exercise!"

The two men unholstered their pistols, loading the chambers. Neither had expected to use them today. They ran up to the entrance, flanking it. With a nod from Elfman, Gray stormed the entrance, scanning with his firearm. Makarov followed in their immediate wake as they began to follow the trail of destruction. Urns and flowerpots were overturned in between the bodies of servants who had tried to stop the interloper…and failed.

At the very end, they found Rogue, beaten and bloody, chest rising and falling in sloppy rhythm. A window nearby was shattered as his assailant fled into the dense London streets. Makarov grimaced. Had his foolish grandson been up to the same old tricks?

"Don't just stand there!" He snapped. "Get Master Cheney to the carriage. We'll take him to the hospital ourselves."

**===][===**

Lucy looked up from her desk as someone entered. Damnit Loke! Didn't you give your master warnings on when people where visiting…any...more… Her thoughts trailed off with the recognition of the man in her office.

"Natsu!" Lucy cried with sudden joy. "I didn't know you were back!"

Her boyfriend grinned that cheeky smile of his, completely at odds with his crisp red uniform. Lucy rounded the desk and they embraced deeply.

"Sorry Luce, haven't been back for very long. I was on patrol outside your house and thought I'd take five minutes off!"

"Natsu! You will get in trouble!" Lucy chastised. "Wait, why were you on patrol if you're back in London?"

"I'm not on leave, Luce. We've been redeployed."

"To London!?" Lucy screeched in surprise. Suddenly, it clicked. "You're here for the Slayer, aren't you?"

"Yes. And Luce, I've got a proposition for you."

**===][===**

"How bad is it?" Levy asked. Rogue's father, Henry Cheney, was a Registrar at the hospital and had pulled strings to get him the best private room in the building. He was an older man, with the same raven hair, but piercing blue eyes. Good, one less suspect.

"My son is made of sturdy stuff, Inspector," he replied icily. "Perhaps if you were doing your job, this would never have happened."

"But his condition?" Levy pressed, ignoring the jab.

"He's not going to be going anywhere for a while. Which is perhaps for the best. If the Slayer strikes tonight, you can cross my son off of your list of suspects!"

"Thank you for the information. I also sincerely hope for the innocence of your son."

**===][===**

In the main city square, a large crowd had once again gathered to watch the mad ramblings of brother Zeref. Infantrymen in their bright red livery walked around, maintaining peace and order. Levy, Jetson and Lily pushed through the crowd. Levy wasn't sure if she was going to stop him, but she wanted to be present.

In another part of the crowd, Laxus, Fried and Evergreen watched with attentive eyes. Their leads were drying up. They'd tail this weirdo the second the crowd dispersed.

"Repent sinners!" Zeref crowed. "None can be spared his wrath, unless you repent!"

"What a fool," Levy murmured. "The Slayer is a psychopath, nothing more. He can't be appealed to like some wrathful deity."

"In my experience, deities aren't too good on being appealed to either," Lily noted with his deep tones.

"I can hear doubters! Then, I shall demonstrate the Slayer's power!" Zeref extended a hand, pointing at a random person in the crowd. "Slayer! I beg of thee as an imperfect servant to smite this man!"

The man began to smile uncertainly, as if unsure of a bad joke. With a horrifying thunk, a knife embedded in his forehead, thrown with considerable force. The crowd screamed as the man pitched over backwards, dead in an instant.

Levy's eyes had followed the more important thing – the knife's trajectory. So had Lily and Laxus' cronies. Behind Zeref on the rooftop was the Slayer, cloak blowing in the wind. He was so much less frightening in the daylight, bereft of the shield of night.

"Rogue's in the hospital…and Zeref's right there," Levy mumbled, brain heading to the inevitable conclusion. No! It could be anyone! She couldn't think like that yet! With a dramatic flourish of his cape, the Slayer fled down the rooftop, out of the line of sight. Levy began to press through the crowd, but couldn't make way. Then Lily stepped forward, the crowd parting like the red sea.

Parallel to them, Laxus took off, Fried and Evergreen hot on his heels. They couldn't let him get away! Soldiers were more focussed on controlling the crowd, of preventing a stampede. No one stopped Zeref as he slipped away in the confusion.

Eventually, the two competing groups broke clear of the mass, heading down the streets on either sides of the row of houses. Both could see the occasional flash of cloak or hair. Levy began to trail behind Lily, who likewise was falling behind Jetson. Let nothing be said badly of the man's footwork.

Streets and corners began to flash by and Levy began to lose her sense of direction. How far had they gone and which way? In the distance, she heard a shout of pain that sounded like Jetson. Then she lost sight of Lily too and there were the sounds of a scuffle, a man shouting angrily.

Levy finally caught up to find Jetson on his rear end nursing a black eye and Lily wrestling a man to the ground.

Gajeel Redfox.

**===][===**

Elsewhere, Laxus came across a church, thinking that he'd seen the Slayer head this way. He pushed rudely past the priest inside, heading up to the very top of the steeple where the church bell hung. He gagged suddenly at the foul stench. There was blood everywhere. Crude language was scrawled in bodily viscera everywhere. It'd be practically invisible from the outside, but it was like an abattoir.

"Is this his lair?" He asked, covering his mouth and nose against the odour assailing him. There was a finger over there…a gouged eye…teeth…an ear…oh God; this was awful, even for a mobster like him.

No one was here though, and he headed back down to grill the priest over this. Fried and Evergreen had caught up by that point and assisted.

"This is an abomination!" The priest cried, backed into a corner. "You would touch a man of the cloth?"

"Not if you answer my questions," Laxus hissed, cracking his knuckles.

The priest was an old man and quickly gave in to the threats. All he knew was that he hadn't been up there in years. He found it hard to climb up there in his advanced age and left it to the elements. It was hard to believe the frail old geezer to be a party to this, so Laxus left, stalking away fuming.

"Arrange to have this church watched all day, every day. If he sniffs around here, I want to know it. The priest will report this, and it'll soon be a crime scene. Fried, if that girl comes here and it looks like she's figured anything out…"

"Yes?" Fried pressed.

"Do I need to spell it out? Beat the shit out of her. We have no more time. I want all of the information she has."

"I don't know how I feel about that. She's just a little girl," Fried stated. Laxus whirled around and slammed Fried into the wall with a painful crack. He shivered under Laxus' baleful glare, fearful for his life. He shook his head slightly at Evergreen. Don't try to be a hero.

"I don't care if she's the pope! Hit her until she talks. She doesn't talk, hit her harder!"

"Y…yes, Laxus," Fried spat out through a grimace. "If I believe her to have important information, I will use any means necessary to extract it."

**===][===**

"This is fucking bullshit!" Gajeel shouted from his jail cell. He pounded against the iron bars with fury, heedless of the injury he was causing himself.

"I'm sorry," Levy replied earnestly from the other side of the bars. "In truth, I believe your innocence, but the circumstance was just too suspect. This is a compromise. We are going to hold you in custody for a little while. If the Slayer kills again, then you're innocent."

"This cannot be legal," Gajeel spat.

"Perhaps not, but I hope that you can understand the seriousness of the situation calls for drastic measures. With this, you will be free to live your life in peace."

"I'm gonna lose work in here!" He shouted, becoming irate again. "I have an order to fill! This will cast a shadow on my name you little runt!"

"You did assault my colleague," Levy noted. "Assaulting a member of the law is ample justification for holding you here for a day or two."

"That lanky beanpole had it coming! Trying to arrest me on the spot like that!" Suddenly, Gajeel grinned. "But that black guy, I like! Tell him that I'd like to spar with him when I get out!"

"I'll pass on the message, Mr Redfox." Gajeel was looking at her oddly. "What?"

"You really believe that I'm innocent, don't you?" He asked. "What reason do you have for that?"

"Well, the evidence has been maddeningly inconclusive, but I just feel like you're an honest man. Straightforward, brutish, thuggish…but honest."

Gajeel actually laughed. "You know something, Shorty? You're alright. You speak your mind despite the fact that you're just a little…"

"I implore you not to finish that sentence so that I may take it as a compliment," Levy replied, mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. "May I make a confession to you, Mr Redfox?"

"It's Gajeel, Shorty."

"It's Levy, Gajeel."

"Shorty. But what would a detective inspector have to confess?" He looked to be enjoying himself a little too much, Levy thought.

"Perhaps my desire for your innocence is not based entirely within logic. For some reason, I find myself drawn to you. Despite your bad manners, you gave me that sword out of concern for my wellbeing. I know that your time in the army made you a good man. And perhaps it is a personal failing, but your illiteracy touches me."

"Ah? Wanna fix me, do you?" Gajeel chuckled. "Take your schoolgirl crush elsewhere. I'm not good for your sort."

"And what sort is that?" Levy asked, becoming annoyed.

"The wordy, clever sort. I need a girl who can survive me. Someone made of tempered iron. You look more like a porcelain doll to me."

"Well, fine." Levy huffed. _What was she doing!? _"I'll take my leave then."

"Oi," Gajeel snorted as Levy left, making her turn back. Gajeel looked away, his expression inscrutable. "Be careful."

**===][===**

By the time Levy finally returned to her office it was late. There was a plethora of letters on her desk and she set to opening them, eager to get to bed. One of them was from Constable Macao, about the discovery in the church tower. Reading it closely, she shivered. She'd have to visit it in the morning.

Another one bore the familiar handwriting of Lucy.

_Dear Levy,_

_You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball to be held at my mansion on the seventeenth. I have endeavoured to invite as many of the local nobles and movers and shakers as I can. Natsu has promised me the full cooperation of the army in terms of security._

_Perhaps it will be a way to unwind in these stressful times, or perhaps this will present an opportunity the Slayer cannot pass up. You told me that he could not resist a challenge to his authority. We will certainly provide a tempting target, with many illustrious guests and heavy security._

_It starts promptly at eight, and please feel free to bring any guests with you. I imagine you have a few bodyguards, and dare I dream that you'll bring a suitor?_

_With love,_

_Lucy Heartphilia_

_P.S I sent Mira a dress for you, since I am aware you probably need the help!_

"Lu-chan, that's a dangerous game," Levy sighed. She'd heard about her boyfriend's wild streak. Clearly it was rubbing off on Lucy, but then again her old friend was never shy on confidence. In the end of the day, there was no reason to assume that the Slayer _would _attack anyway.

No, much more terrifying was the prospect of being stuffed into a dress by Mira.

**===][===**

After Levy blew out the lantern lighting her office and headed off to her bedroom the window slid open, a dagger expertly forcing the lock from the outside.

Fried quietly began to sift through the letters on the desk, noting anything of import. He froze as he began to read Lucy's letter.

"Interesting," he mumbled. Perhaps he could help coax the Slayer into making an appearance. Brother Zeref had fled after the killing in the square, but getting the message back to him should be simple. A bit of gossip here, a bit of gossip there and he'd know. And if he was truly in touch with the Slayer…this was a golden opportunity.

**===][===**

"Master Rogue," Orga mumbled, bowing low as his master returned home from the hospital.

"Oh please stop gurning, Orga," Rogue replied impatiently. He was using a cane to walk, and his face was a livid mess of bruises. "It wasn't your fault that I got attacked. Now, help me prepare for bed. I shall attend to my duties in the morning."

Duties, including a pile of letters, the top of which was stamped with the Heartphilia crest.


	8. Masquerade Ball

**===Chapter 8===**

**Masquerade Ball**

"Mira, please stop!" Levy cried as the woman tightened the corset.

"Now, now, Levy, you have a wonderfully slender waist. I'm sure that we can get this tighter!"

"Please Mira! I have to be able to move! I might be required to dispense my duties this night!"

"Okay fine!" Mira huffed, stepping back to admire Levy. "You look gorgeous!"

The dress that Lucy had sent for her was scarlet red. It was far more racy than Levy was used to, cut low across her bust with floral trim. The skirt brushed along the floor, constraining her legs, and her hair and been pulled back into a fashionable ponytail in what she was sure was the most painful fashion possible.

"I…look like a child," Levy replied, despondent.

"You look like a beautiful lady," Mira replied forcefully. She raised her voice to call out of the door. "Lily! Please come in and tell your charge that she looks radiant!"

"Mira, why…"

Lily came through the doorway, bowing ever so slightly to fit. He studied Levy for a moment with an unreadable expression.

"The young lady looks lovely tonight," he said at last. Levy smiled, but then noticed something.

"Why are you in a suit? Shouldn't you be in uniform?"

"Levy!" Mira chastised. "Lily needs to stay close to you as your bodyguard and you need a date for the party. So this works out perfectly."

"Mira! This isn't some kind of social outing!"

"Actually, I think you'll find that it is." She pushed Levy so hard that she tumbled into Lily who caught her before he could fall. He was enormous compared to her, her head barely reaching his chest. "You two look so cute together! So mismatched!"

"Mira, could you please stop enjoying yourself?" Levy asked, face flushing red with annoyance.

"No, these are the moments I live for. Now, let's hurry! You can't be late!"

**===][===**

Even the Heartphilia estate was becoming crowded by the sheer number of guests swarming every nook and cranny. Levy was amazed. She knew that the Heartphilias were well connected, but this must be every mover and shaker in the greater London area. She wouldn't have been surprised to see Queen Vic herself!

But the creepy thing was all of the masks. She was sure the higher society, sheltered in their ivory towers might find some cheap thrill with all of the 'danger' of a masquerade ball, but to Levy it was terrifying. She began to realise just how much of a person was written on their face, and with a mask that connection was gone.

Everyone had been sent a plain white mask after sending their desire to attend. They seemed eerily like the Slayer's, but Levy had to believe that that had been pure coincidence. Lucy had even been so kind as to attend to some degree to the relative sizes of her guests. Levy hoped that her mask was not the smallest size possible.

As she and Lily began to wander through the expansive gardens, she hoped that Jetson, Macao and Wakaba had arrived safely. Apparently, there had been some argument between Jetson and Mira as to who would escort her as her date. Levy sadly assumed because neither wanted to escort such a plain girl.

She caught a glimpse of two infantrymen, patrolling the grounds in their crisp red uniforms. The mansion was under heavy guard alright. Even if the Slayer wanted in, he probably couldn't.

Unless he'd been invited.

That was the nasty thought. All of these masks hid a person's identity. Was one of those the identity of the Slayer? It couldn't be Zeref or Rogue…or Gajeel, right? Or could it? Levy had sprung upon a new idea…what if Zeref's Slayer was fake? He didn't speak and he could be anyone…but in truth, that made him a second murderer.

Stop thinking, Levy! Be on guard, but just enjoy the night. She walked through the enormous entrance. Amidst the hubbub, Lucy's butler Loke greeted her. Unlike the guests, the staff went unmasked like the military. Levy didn't ask how Loke recognized her with a mask on. She'd begun to realise just how obvious she was with her distinctive hair and height.

With a drink in her hand –Mira be damned, she was an adult! – Levy began to mingle. She didn't recognize anyone, but they all spoke with highborn accents and demeanours, and more than a few disapproving glares came her way. She decided to start holding Lily's hand. Damn their bigotry, she would be no part of it, even if this wasn't a real date.

"You're a very kind woman," Lily noted in his passive voice.

"I try to be," she responded cryptically. A man stepped in her way and her heart froze. It was the Slayer! Red eyes, black hair – the splitting image. Oh god, Lily didn't realise! She was going to die! She was…

"Evening, Inspector," the man said smoothly and Levy suddenly realised that it was Rogue Cheney. He carried a cane and walked with a slight limp since his beating the other day. "I had no idea that you were also invited."

"Well, I happen to be old friends with the hostess," Levy replied, trying to calm her racing heart.

"In truth, my father was invited, but I thought I would attend in his stead since he is busy and I needed some time to unwind after recent events."

"Ah yes, how are you?"

"Not well enough to be running over rooftops, if that's what you are asking," he responded, humour creeping into his voice. He moved away into the crowd, leaving Levy feeling a little conflicted. Before she could put words to her thoughts, a large man pushed past her, knocking her to the side. She dropped her drink and Lily barely caught her before she hit the floor.

"Excuse me," Lily said in acidic tones, "It is impolite to barge into a lady."

The man turned back, a blonde haired giant. "I don't need a lesson in manners from a monkey."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Apparently you do. I can give you a quick lesson right now if you like."

The two men stepped up, equal in height and build, their masks pressed together. A silence descended as the crowd stepped back from the imminent fight.

"I don't take back talk from anyone, let alone a negro."

"Keep talking, I dare you," Lily hissed. A masked, green-haired man suddenly appeared, yanking on the blonde's arm. The blonde stared at him angrily, but nodded in understanding. With one last hate-filled glance, Laxus and Fried stalked back into the crowd. They had more important fish to fry.

"Thank you for defending me, Lily," Levy said earnestly. "You're very kind too."

"I try to be," he responded, clearly amused with himself. Shaking off the unpleasantness, they continued with their evening. While she was enjoying Lily's company, Levy kept having one thought.

_I love having someone big around, but I wish it was someone else._

There was a gunshot and a scream, piercing the entire ballroom. Levy's eyes widened in shock – that was Lucy! She immediately headed for the grand staircase to the second floor, and she couldn't help but notice that the blonde and green-haired men had reached it first.

**===][===**

Lucy had snuck off from the party depressingly early to fool around with Natsu. It was not proper behaviour for high society, but Natsu was away for long periods and they were young and in love. They were behind her desk, passionately embraced though still semi-clothed when the door had opened.

Natsu clamped a hand over Lucy's mouth and grabbed his revolver. He had no idea who would sneak off from the party to enter Lucy's office, but he was taking no chances. He snapped up over the desk, pistol aimed.

In a bizarre frozen moment the Slayer hung in mid-leap like some figment of nightmare, an ornamental sword in hand. Natsu's pistol barked, but the Slayer was already inside his reach. Natsu swayed back and a fatal blow turned into a grievous injury instead, a crimson line appearing in his chest. That is when Lucy screamed.

"Luce! Run!" Natsu shouted, wielding his spent pistol like a club. Lucy tried to run around the desk, which made the Slayer leap at her instead. Natsu hurled himself over the desk with almighty fury, bearing the Slayer to the ground.

Lucy ran out into the hallway, desperate to find help. She never saw the two men coming up the hallway behind her. Laxus spared one glance into the office and barked an order to Fried before leaping in.

"Kill her! No witnesses!"

With that, Laxus entered the office, lashing out with a savage kick to the Slayer's shoulder. It had enough force to rip him from the ground and elicit a scream of pain. Before the Slayer could recover, Laxus shot. The pistol ripped a chunk of meat from the Slayer's shoulder, forcing the sword from his hand in reflex agony.

"You're nothing special," Laxus sneered. "Without stealth, you're just a little baby playing dress up."

"Y…you…you..ass…hole," the Slayer gasped in pain.

"This is for the boss…but also Bixlow you bastard!" Laxus roared. With a complete lack of common sense spurred on by the need for violence, Laxus didn't simply kill the Slayer, but rushed over, and with superior weight and speed hurled him right through the window.

On the second story.

Laxus walked to the window to stare down at the body below, blood extending in an expanding lake. The body had hit the stone courtyard. Belatedly, he realised that he should have unmasked him first, but the press should plaster the true identity over all of the papers come the morning and-

Laxus died, his brains splattering over the wall.

"What did you say about killing Luce?" Natsu hissed, lowering his reloaded revolver and finally passing out from blood loss.

**===][===**

Lucy was still running, realising that in her panic that she had fled away from the ballroom. But now a man was chasing her. A pistol kept firing, but in the darkened corridors he hadn't hit her yet. Then random chance failed her, and a bullet grazed her thigh, sending the blonde woman to the floor.

"There, there," Fried reassured, reloading his gun. "I am not a cruel man. I will end this in one shot."

A gun fired.

Fried screamed, his hand a bloody mess. A man advanced out of the dark of the corridor, smoking gun in hand.

"Who are you!?"

"I am Loke Leon, butler to the Heartphilia Organisation. I answer the door, I clean up the estate and I take out the trash. I also kill self-entitled little twats like yourself." Loke pressed the gun's muzzle to Fried's head. "Now, you're going to tell me everything I want to know."

Fried smiled. "Okay, I have one associate unaccounted for."

**===][===**

Dammit! Lily's long strides had quickly left Levy behind. She tore off her mask to help herself breathe and hitched up her skirt. As she passed a doorway, a figure leapt out, slamming Levy painfully into the wall.

"Don't fight little girl," Evergreen gloated as her hands clamped around the smaller woman's throat. "Laxus wants you dead, so it's easier on everyone if you just go quietly."

Levy gagged, her head swimming. Her eyes were teary as she looked up into Evergreen's malice filled gaze. She was too weak to break the grip and panicking made the situation worse. She was going to die! But then, Ever's eyes changed, widening in shock before going limp. She collapsed against Levy before slipping to the floor.

This revealed the man standing behind her with a bloody knife. He wore a suit and mask indicating that he'd come from the party. His hair was black and his eyes were red.

"You're not the Slayer," Levy gasped defiantly. The build was wrong, the pose. The man cackled and removed his mask.

It was brother Zeref.

"No, I am only the Slayer's agent on this Earth!" He crowed, reminding Levy of his insanity. "Now, he's requested a special death for the woman hunting him! Come with me!" Zeref grabbed Levy by the hair and began to drag her painfully down the corridor.

The cane sword had been too heavy for Levy.

So Gajeel had given her a second gift.

Levy reached under her skirt and drew a stiletto dagger that was strapped to her thigh. She slashed aimlessly over her head and was rewarded by Zeref screaming in pain. He released her and she scrambled to her feet desperately trying to get the knife between them. Zeref lunged at her, heedless in his insanity.

Zeref killed himself. He had thrown himself right onto Levy's knife. He looked down in amazement, as if uncomprehending. He looked into Levy's eyes as if searching for the answer to his confusion. Then those eyes became glassy and he slumped backwards, knife still in his chest.

Levy was shaking violently. It was all too much, literally two different murder attempts within the space of thirty seconds. Trembling, she slowly made her way to Lucy's office, where her friend embraced her. Loke was tending to the unconscious form of the green-haired man while Lily was patching up Natsu.

"He's dead. Outside in the courtyard," Natsu stated, voice drained of emotion. "The Slayer."

"Then let's go." Levy sighed deeply. It was over. "Time to get some answers."


	9. Identities

**===Chapter 9===**

**Identities**

Levy hurried outside, followed by a gaggle of curious onlookers. Lily kept trying to check on her, but she shrugged him off. She was a bit traumatised, but she wasn't hurt. Jetson was already there, standing just outside of the pool of blood with Constable Macao.

The Slayer had made a grisly scene even in death. It was horrible, but Levy would not let anyone else do her duty. She gingerly stepped through the blood, squatting near the Slayer's head. Trembling hands reached out and unhooked the mask. She removed it.

It was Rogue.

Staring back at her with a vacant, slack, almost fish-like expression, but very definitely Rogue Cheney. Levy stared for a moment, not really sure what to do. This didn't answer anything as to his motives and methods. What had driven him to do this thing?

Levy sighed deeply. This was her goal, but it didn't feel like she wanted it. This was a bright young man with a promising future. Why had he thrown it away?

But…Gajeel was innocent! Levy clung on to that fact. Perhaps something good had come out of this mess.

**===][===**

A week had passed. There had been disappointingly little closure of events. Rogue's family, his friends and associates had no insight into the events that had happened. Perhaps they'd never know, and perhaps that was a good thing. Understanding the mind of a madman was not a pleasant occupation.

Now Levy was tackling her most difficult task: Mira dressing her up. Levy was not used to acting feminine, but Mira was more than happy to do anything to aid young love. Now that Levy thought about it, Gajeel had never seen her in a dress, and she was embarrassed.

Walking down the high street towards his shop she passed a florist. Should she buy some flowers for him? No! Boys bought flowers for girls, not the other way around! Levy rubbed her forehead in annoyance. She was so bad at being a girl!

In the end, she bought a single rose and tucked it through her headband. She thought that it looked cute and hoped that Gajeel would agree. Her face went bright pink as she stood in front of the blacksmith. Had she always been this shy? No, it was him making her like this.

She opened the front door in a frantic panic, eager to just get this over and done with. Gajeel was hammering away at his anvil, sure as ever. He looked at her, and to Levy's amazement, he blushed before looking back at his work.

"You look…nice this evening," he said tonelessly.

"Thank you," she replied with a big smile, not put off by his demeanour. "I suppose the correct response is that you look rugged and manly."

"Tch, stop being so wordy and clever, Shorty."

"I have told you my name," Levy replied, frowning slightly.

"I prefer Shorty." Gajeel chuckled as he put down his tools and removed his apron. He went over to stand next to Levy, looking down. "It suits you more!"

"I…I have never met a more trying man," Levy admitted, trying to hold her temper in check. "But I always knew that you were no gentleman."

"No, I'm a wild man, and you love it, right?" Gajeel grinned and suddenly slipped an arm around Levy's waist, drawing her close. She stammered and went bright red. Gajeel reached down and kissed her, making her embarrassment ten times worse, but it was a wonderful experience.

"Come upstairs with me," Gajeel said, leading her by her hand.

"I am a lady!" Levy protested.

"No, you're a clever little brawler, you're no lady. Now, stop panicking. I'm not asking for anything improper. Just come upstairs." Gajeel led her up from his store front to his small apartment to his bedroom. It seemed so normal.

"Admit it; you were expecting murderer stuff in here, weren't you?" Gajeel asked with a crooked grin.

"Not at all. No murderer could have lacy pillows!" Levy giggled.

"They are _not _lacy," Gajeel murmured, unable to not respond to the insult to his male pride. "They were my grandmother's that's all."

"Your secret's safe with me!"

"My secret, eh?" Gajeel asked, reaching down to kiss her again. Levy closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment. As she felt him separate, she opened her eyes to gaze into his face and everything in her world changed. Gone was the Gajeel she knew to be replaced with a cruel, leering expression.

She just knew. She didn't have to wait to be told.

Gajeel's fist slammed into her head and she went over onto the wooden floor with a muffled squeak of pain. She curled up into the foetal position, unable to move over the tremendous pain in her head. Gajeel walked over and squatted, smiling triumphantly.

"Why, Gajeel?" She whimpered.

"No, sorry love. Gajeel's not home. You're talking to the Slayer now."

"W…what?" Levy asked. The Slayer reached down and yanked her head back by the hair to stare into her face. With his other hand he reached into his hair, pulling it back to reveal the scar running down the right side of his skull.

"They say that birth is painful. I can attest to that. My birth was excruciating."

"You…you mean…," Levy gasped.

"Head trauma. Impaired motor function. Loss of memory, unable to read. That's a discharge from the military. Ungrateful bastards. Poor Gajeel gave his life for them, and they toss him aside like so much trash."

"You talk in the third person."

"Wooo, Gajeel's right, you are a clever one. Yes, little girl, I am not Gajeel. I just rent the apartment in his head." The Slayer slammed Levy's head into the flooring and stood. He went over to a side table and poured himself a glass of scotch, calm as anything. "Don't hate him. He has no idea that I exist. Hell, I only recently became cogent enough to understand my unusual existence."

"Multiple personality disorder…," Levy mumbled, trying to lift herself on trembling arms.

"There you go with those big words again," the Slayer chuckled.

"Why!?" Levy shouted. "Why have you killed all of these people?"

"Oh, that? That's quite simple. You see; I am completely insane. Sometimes I need to torture, other times I just want to see blood. Sometimes I need things and people get in my way. I've been growing more and more lucid of late and it's quite a fascinating thing to observe from within." He took a shot of his drink and pursed his lips as he swallowed. "I think I'll be the dominant one soon."

"You can read…," Levy hissed, understanding flowing. "Gajeel can't write, but you can."

"Very good. I never lost that ability for some reason. The human mind is an interesting thing." The Slayer laughed, high pitched and frightening. He frowned. "But then I realised that someone was hunting me. Me!? Can you fucking believe that!? I had to take action."

"The man called Bixlow, the one you targeted."

"Yep. That was a learning experience. I learnt that the people I had killed had connections. A powerful mob boss wanted me dead and had sent men after me. Heh! Right about now, Mr Gildartz should be receiving a package. Mostly shrapnel, explosives and a trigger."

"The others are dead too, if you care," Levy said bitterly, still trying to pull herself upright. "Except Mr Justine. He's accepted a jail sentence."

"I'll get to him in time," the Slayer promised. "After all, I'm only one man!" He waited, but the girl didn't laugh at his humour. Maybe he was doing it wrong. He felt his anger rise. "But then I learnt some else was after me. This tiny, weakling wretch not only thought that she could best me, but humiliated me!"

"Heh, sorry that you have motion sickness," Levy said with a tiny smile of triumph. The Slayer struck like lightning, kicking her across the room like a football. She slammed into the wall with a horrific crack and slumped to the floor, mewling in pain.

"You bitch!" The Slayer snarled. "How dare you mock me? I am god!"

"No," Levy breathed, "You are an admitted figment of the imagination."

"You…," Gajeel's body snatched two objects from inside of a drawer and held them before Levy. One was a gun, the other a knife. "Go on, choose your mean of death."

"Why?"

"Because this day, it amuses me."

"But what about Rogue?" Levy insisted, desperate to stall for time.

"Ah, him? Gihi! You may think of me as a brute, but I staged all of this, just for this time with you. When I heard of Zeref, I realised that I could use him. And through Gajeel I met Rogue and saw his involvement. It was easy to coerce him. All I had to do was threaten to kill his entire family and frame him as me!"

"You monster," Levy spat. "You didn't need him dead!"

"Ah, but I did. To get the suspicion off of poor Gajeel. The Slayer you chased along the roof was him."

"But…but Rogue was injured! He couldn't have done it!"

The Slayer grinned. "Was he injured? How badly? Did you actually go into his room to check, or did he use his father to stall you?"

"I…I…," Levy stammered, seeing her fault.

"It was quite convenient that they both ended up dead. It saved me the bother! Gihihi!"

"Please stop!" Levy cried, reaching out to grab the Slayer's forearm. "Please give Gajeel back! Give him his life back!"

As if frustrated by the contact, the Slayer stood, backing away. He through the gun onto the bed and brandished the knife. "Come on girlie. If you're going to die, at least do it on your feet."

A moment passed in which nothing happened. The Slayer cocked a brow as Levy's face went white and she looked down at her legs. She couldn't move them! She hadn't realised it, but the impact into the wall had damaged her spine, preventing all feelings of pain from her legs reaching her as well as rendering them useless.

"Ah well, at least you won't spend the rest of your life a cripple," the Slayer said quietly, bending back down with the knife before him. "You don't have long at all."

"Please, no!" Levy pleaded, tears in her eyes. "Please, Gajeel!"

The knife stopped, Gajeel's arm trembling. Gajeel's eyes had shifted again. He was startled, uncomprehending.

"Oi, Shorty! What's going on!? Why are you hurt?" He looked at the knife in his hands. "No."

"No, Gajeel! It's okay! We can just-"

"No. I thought I…I knew something was wrong…but this…no. NO!" He stood, discarding the knife. He took the gun from the bed.

"NO! GAJEEL!" Levy screamed.

"I have to." Gajeel raised the gun to the scar on his head and pulled the trigger.

**===][===**

**1 Year later**

Levy sat in her study. It was a wondrous room for her, lined with shelf after shelf of leather bound tomes. It was the best place in the entire world. It was cold now in late January. She had a shawl drawn over her narrow shoulders to ward off the cold. She should light the fire, but it made her feel bad. Lucy paid for everything since her incapacitation. She couldn't really work properly anymore, and needed help for everything.

Lily walked into the study, pushing a small wheelchair. He'd been her constant companion since the horrific case of the Slayer. He'd left the military and Lucy kept him on the payroll as butler, handyman and bodyguard all rolled into one.

"Thank you, Lily," she said as he gently lifted her tiny form into the chair. They departed from the room, going out into the cold evening air. Levy watched London roll by. It was as if nothing had ever happened. People were small after all, and London was vast. It swallowed all of their lives.

The entered the hospice and Lily effortlessly carried the entire chair and occupant up three flights of stairs to the psychiatric ward. He didn't enter the specific room and waited outside as Levy pushed herself inside.

Gajeel sat in the bed, his head no longer a swathe of bandages. He looked at her, his eyes distant and vague.

"Little. I know you, right?" He asked.

"That's right," Levy replied kindly, rolling next to him. "I'm Levy. I saw you last week, remember?"

"Yes," Gajeel lied. Levy knew it was a lie, but didn't correct him. "You can't walk. I think I know, but…can you remind me?"

Levy reached up to put a hand on his cheek. He didn't react, as if he'd become used to it despite his memory failure. "A bad man hurt me a long time ago. His name was Rogue and he hurt a lot of people. It's in those newspapers you have in the drawer. Remember, he hurt your head too. It's why you have difficulty remembering."

"A bad man?" Gajeel asked, brow furrowing.

"A very wicked man. But he's gone now. There's only kind men left now." Levy was crying as she spoke.

"Little people shouldn't be hurt," Gajeel declared confidently. "They should be looked after. That's what Captain Makarov always said."

Levy smiled thinly. He remembered Makarov this week. Little by little, he was getting better, and she'd never seen a shadow of the split personality since. She lied and let Rogue take the blame for being the Slayer. She'd called the injuring 'a tragic accident with a misfiring gun', which was a poor lie, but she was a detective and had no one to challenge her.

After all, Gajeel was no criminal.

"I'd like that. I have an hour; would you like to look after me?"

Gajeel nodded and reached into her chair, lifting her onto his lap. She rested her head on his chest and stayed happily in his arms without speaking. Sometimes, the wordy girl had learned, words weren't necessary. The way to mend a broken heart or indeed a broken mind was with love and caring. And she had that in spades.

This was not a happy ending, but it was enough for Levy.

**Hi there! Obviously, this was a bitter sweet ending, but the original draft had them both dying, so don't complain! This story was always supposed to be a darker piece, and a 'happy ending' would have been wrong in my opinion.**

**I hope people enjoyed reading this, and were satisfied with the conclusion. I also hope my plots and twists were logical and consistent. Well…I suck with endings, so thanks for reading!**


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